In the Mist
by pattyrose
Summary: 1959: Alcatraz - a.k.a The Rock. A prison island only a mile from San Francisco Bay - a prison island almost always sheathed in the Bay's everpresent, dark mist. They say the world's most dangerous criminals are locked up on The Rock. So, when one of the worst of the worst breaks out, just like the everpresent mist, danger lurks everywhere. A short, Halloween Tale. ExB
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, guys. Here's a Halloween 'Trick or Treat' – it's up to you guys which one you find it to be, lol – that popped into my head. It'll be short and quick. Read the A/N at the end for a little more info.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. Storyline belongs to me. Mistakes belong to me.**

 **In the Mist - Chapter 1**

* * *

 **October 31, 1959**

 _There are so many ways the story could've ended differently. Yet, it never does…_

The backhand he gave me left behind a white, intense flash of light. It was joined by a whirring ring in my ears.

"I brought you here to impress my associates. Instead, you disappear into the mist and to the middle of nowhere and make me look like an asshole. I-"

He cut off.

At first, too bewildered by my rattled brain and the force of impact, I confused the flash of light and the ringing in my ears with the reason I was standing out here in the first place, in awe of the unusual view.

You see, the San Francisco Yacht Club's pristine windows provided a clear view of the harbor; though the bay's nightly fog and mist usually swallowed up the Golden Gate and Marin County at its other end. Dilapidated Angel Island, once an immigrant processing station, then during the Second World War, a detention center for POWs, stood mostly forgotten and practically nonexistent through the murky clouds. Most of all, the treacherous nebula made a valiant, nightly attempt at erasing from the minds of most San Franciscans the fact that the worst of the worst were housed just a hair's breadth from our homes – housed in Alcatraz.

That night, however, while Elvis crooned through the supper club's radios about rocking in jailhouses, and my mind haplessly wandered beyond Michael and his associates' dull, monotone voices, through those pristine Yacht Club's windows, the clouds dispersed over Alcatraz. The massive rock formation suddenly became visible, as if materialized out of thin air. Atop the Rock, the pale, white penitentiary glowed through its somberly dark frame, as if heralded by something otherworldly. It was then I noted the lights in the sky, the whirring in the air. It was then I excused myself.

"Please excuse me, gentlemen."

At no one in particular, I smiled as demurely as possible. Dabbing my mouth with my napkin, I stood and smoothed down the fitted bodice of my pale blue taffeta dress, all to avoid Michael's murderous glare. Then, wiping away imaginary crumbs from in between my dress panels, I walked away.

I wonder…perhaps had I claimed I was headed to the restroom.

Perhaps had I met his cold, blue-eyed gaze and smiled reassuringly.

Instead, I made my way out of the supper club, my wide skirt rustling in my wake.

OOOOO

Outside, the bay's perpetually cold, evening air nipped at my bared arms. I hugged myself as I gazed out at the sparkling, black Pacific, it's whitewater waves crashing against treacherous rocks, a deceitful body of water which had sunk its fair share of boats and ships throughout history. To my left, only the Golden Gate's lights were visible; the rest of the bridge lay inundated by the vaporous gloom. The Rock, however, rose front and center, illuminated by the searchlights of a handful of helicopters and boats; surrounded by insidious cliffs and by a deep, dark abyss.

Voices rose in the air, full of desperation and bewilderment. Only a mile and a quarter away, the prisoners' howls carried in the bay's wind; fury so clear that the hairs on my arms stood on end. The guards' responding shouts sent a cold shiver up my spine. Only a mile and a quarter away. Who first thought of the idea of housing the worst of the criminals only a mile and a quarter away?

It was as I thought this, as my gaze focused through the darkness to the confusion occurring a mile and a quarter away, that Michael set himself in my field of vision. He was tall, his tuxedo perfectly starched, shoes perfectly shined, face perfectly groomed, slicked-back hair in place, all for one cowlick that always fell in between his glacial eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I kept my gaze on the whirring helicopters, which zig-zagged back and forth in the ebony sky, searching, shining their powerful beams.

"Michael, what do you think has happened? Do you think an inmate's escaped?"

"Don't be so fucking stupid, Bella. No one escapes Alcatraz. It's why they send the worst of the scum there."

If that was true, I vaguely wondered why he wasn't there.

"I just spent fifteen minutes walking around and looking for you. My business partners have probably left, and now that fucking deal is going to fall through, and it's all your goddamn fault. I brought you along to impress with your face at least, and instead, you've cost me the entire deal. What the fuck are you doing out here?"

The entire time, I focused on the helicopters. Then, I took in the boats, who shone their searchlights on the murky abyss below, creating concentric white circles that spiraled around and around. Foghorn moans cut through the night. Muffled voices through loudspeakers joined the melee. I hugged myself tighter.

"Something is definitely going on. I think someone's-"

He grabbed the sheer, lace cowl at my dress's neckline and fisted it tightly, jerking me toward him.

Perhaps, had I allowed Michael to lead me away then.

"You _don't_ think, Bella. That's your fucking problem. You don't think, and when you try to think, you just fuck things up. Now, let's go." He tugged hard on my neckline. "You're going to apologize. We're going to go back to the supper club, and you're going to apologize to Mr. Marcus and to Mr. Aro, and then-"

"No."

His eyes narrowed into slits.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"It's a simple word, Michael. No. I want to stay out here. I want to see what's going on over there. So…no."

Michael released my neckline and took a step back. It wasn't until I saw the bright lights appear even closer than they'd been, until the whirring ring rose by more than a few octaves and consumed my entire world…until I felt the stinging burn on the entire right half of my face that I realized he'd backhanded me.

"I brought you here to impress my associates. Instead, you disappear into the mist and to the middle of nowhere and make me look like an asshole. I-"

Perhaps, had I dropped the obstructing hand away from my throbbing face, had I looked up as soon as I heard the sudden wheezing, gurgling sounds emanating from Michael.

Perhaps had I screamed.

Perhaps had I yelled for help.

Perhaps had I tried to help.

But…I didn't.

Instead, I waited.

I waited until the sounds of his choking became fewer, until his shallow attempts to breathe decreased and the moments of silence in between increased. With my head down, I waited until I saw his legs give, and he fell to the damp ground – not in a heap, the way a man who'd just choked on a wishbone would, or the way a man who'd just suffered cardiac arrest might. No. He fell with slow, controlled movements, the way someone who was being held up, whose fall was being guided, would fall.

Then, I drew in a deep breath, and I looked up and into a set of fierce, green eyes framed by the murky mist and by the dead of night. Too dark to see his face, the only other fact I could discern was that he wore a pair of wet, government-issued pajamas with a set of letters and numbers imprinted on a pocket patch.

I offered him a languid smile.

"Thank you."

* * *

 **A/N: I've got a few things going on. Usually, when I say this, it's mostly good stuff. This time, not so much. But I won't complain (too much). I'll focus on the good, and instead, I'll try to write through my stress here and there.**

 **No update schedule this time, loves. But this is meant to be a really short, Halloween tale, so…it should be quick. ;)**

 **As for Uprising…it'll continue at some point, but I need focus for that one, which I honestly don't have too much of at the moment. Sorry. :)**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose.**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts! So glad you guys are enjoying this story. Again, it should be a short one, so…we'll see. ;)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are also mine.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _Alice once asked me what it's like._

 _It's like…well, it's almost like when I was a graduate student at Mills College in Oakland. Mills College had one of the first MBA programs for women on the West Coast. As a result, the men would look at us as if we were a strange sort of parasite, one who wanted to force itself into the realm of butterflies, where it had no business being. A woman with an MBA? Preposterous._

 _Often, we female graduate students would receive snide, side comments as we walked down the streets with our heavy textbooks in hand. These "men" complained about whatever radicalism allowed us to leave the kitchen and enter a man's domain. They bemoaned the decline of McCarthyism and blamed this decline and our moral liberality on a Supreme Court which grew increasingly permissive. They spewed nonsense about 'dames having no need for brains' followed by raucous laughter as they patted one another on the back for their witty prose. When I congratulated these fellas on their ability to 'walk and rhyme at the same time,' the insults would deteriorate to suggestions on what I should be doing with my body rather than growing old as I pursued a man's education._

 _Somehow, after all that, I still ended up with Michael. But, I digress._

 _Anyway, in the course of those two years in that MBA program, I must've taken dozens of exams. Sometimes, I performed well. Sometimes, I didn't score as I would've hoped. Yet, every exam brought with it an opportunity to improve, to do better than the last; one minuscule change – a few words added or subtracted here, a box checked on or off there – and the grade would either spike or drop. Each change within those two years, no matter how small, had the potential to change my life if only I could figure out what changes, what shifts were required._

 _So, it's something like that except I have no idea how much time I have in which to accomplish the required change._

OOOOO

 **San Francisco: 1959**

The mist swirled around him like a gauzy, white blanket. It ebbed and flowed around his frame like one of the whitewater waves from which he'd emerged. When the mist would wane, I'd glimpse his tall frame in dripping clothing; I'd marvel at the rich, copper hue to his damp, dark hair, the color of a submerged penny. Then, he was again enveloped in the vaporous sheath, as if its purpose was to keep the cool, bay air off of his wet skin. Only his eyes, two enigmatic emeralds, continuously shone through the mist.

After I thanked him for his assistance, he offered no reply. For an interminable moment, I stood across from that silent, inscrutable green gaze, with Michael's crumpled body stiff and silent on the ground between us.

Finally, the mist dispelled, and the man stepped over Michael's prone corpse. He took two steps toward me – a dangerously disheveled man with wild hair and dark stubble above a tall, powerful frame; a frame which halted when I took a step back.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." His whispered words quivered from the cold, a rough sound yet also soothing somehow.

"I know."

"Your cheek…" he gestured with his angular jaw, "it's swelling."

"I'll be fine. It's nothing that hasn't happened before."

The man's gaze tightened before he swept his eyes toward the darkness, where a little over a half-mile away, at the midpoint between us and Alcatraz, the helicopters' searchlights hovered. Their propellers echoed off the black waters and sent more mist swirling into the air. The Coast Guard's ships sounded their foghorns. The Rock's lighthouse beamed its massive and powerful light in a jumpy, three-hundred-sixty-degree circle around the bay, dizzying in its fervor. It illuminated everything from the Golden Gate to Marin County to Oakland and the Golden Gate's less popular sister – the Bay Bridge, all the way to our hidden little spot. Around and around and back it went while the helicopters scoured and the ships blew their horns and bullhorns amplified the hunters' desperation.

It was only a matter of time.

"They'll find you."

"They'll have to kill me because I'm not going back."

Still rough, his voice was no longer a whisper, and the finality with which he spoke the statement sent a chill racing down my spine.

"Those clothes are a dead give-away. You'll have to take…you'll have to take Michael's clothes."

The man's eyebrow quirked upward, and a slow grin formed on one half of his mouth.

"I was planning to, but I didn't think you'd want to stick around and watch."

At first, his movements were carefully controlled as if he feared having me finally scream. He stepped backward, again lifting his long legs over Michael's body, his dark emerald gaze on me the entire time. I held my ground, frozen in place as much by shock, I vaguely supposed, as by my fascination. Eyes still on me, the man knelt before Michael's pale face. After a handful of seconds, he tore his gaze away, and I released a long, ragged breath.

Silently, I watched the man swiftly lift and roll Michael's body this way and that to relieve him of the various pieces of his tux. First, his jacket then his vest.

Perhaps I should've been disturbed by his callous treatment of a corpse, even more by the fact that the corpse was once my lover. Perhaps that sort of emotional response would've been the normal one, and it would've done the trick enough for me to manage screams. Perhaps that's how the end result would've been different.

But I recalled the lack of care and respect Michael took with my body, and I carefully knelt at his other side, lifting my skirt to my thighs so as not to get it wet on the ground.

"You'll have to work quicker."

The man paused at Michael's shirt buttons and looked up at me, eyes wide and clearly shocked. But then that slow, lop-sided grin reappeared.

"You want to help?"

Apparently, he was merely taunting me, because when I reached for Michael's shiny, patent leather shoes, the man wrapped his fingers around my wrist.

A thousand and one stars exploded within me, and concurrently, outside of me. His breath hitched, and he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. It took a couple of moments for me to realize the outward explosion wasn't the stars at all, but rather the whir of an engine before it cut off as a boat pulled into this side of the bay.

The man blinked.

"When was the last time you were seen with him?"

"About twenty minutes ago, inside the supper club. I stepped out to have a look at the commotion. He followed me out a few minutes later and found me here, and…I guess you saw the rest."

"Yeah. Curious one, aren't you?" When I didn't reply, he snorted. "I don't want you touching any part of him. When the G-Men come questioning you, you say you stepped out of that supper club and never saw him again. Got it?"

Drawing in a succession of uneven breaths, I nodded. When the man reached for Michael's laces, I slipped my arms in between his arms. When I began undoing the top button to his wet, government-issued shirt, he froze and a shudder ran through him.

"What are you doing now?"

"We don't have time to waste," I said. "While you take off his things, I'll help you take off yours."

This time, he took both my wrists, his grip firmer than before as he pulled me toward him. Our faces met only inches apart over Michael's lifeless chest. Yet unlike the way Michael tended to grab and yank me, the man's constraint, though solid, was careful and controlled.

"Listen to me, dame: there is no _we_." As he hissed, his mouth rumbled so close to mine that I tasted his every word.

"Don't call me _dame_. My name is Bella."

Once more, his eyes narrowed in bemusement. "Bella," he breathed, his wet chest expanding and contracting under my hands, shadowed jaw tightening.

"Bella, walk away and don't look back. Forget you saw this. Forget you saw _me_ ," he bit through clenched teeth. "You walked out of that supper club, and you went home, and you never saw your poor Michael here again."

He offered me a cold and mocking smile, holding me locked in his intense gaze for what felt like a lifetime, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist.

Perhaps, had I obeyed and walked away then.

When I calmly returned to his buttons, his nostrils flared. Yet, he said nothing more as he released my wrists and allowed me to resume my duty as he resumed his.

With swift, surprisingly nimble fingers, I undid the man's shirt, button by button while he relieved Michael of the shoes and socks he no longer needed. When I reached the last button, I felt the man's stomach contract. But when I reached for his shoulders to pull off the soaked shirt, he pulled away.

The man met my eyes with a strange glare, yet he said nothing as he pulled off his shirt. The mist returned, gossamer and translucent as it swirled around his broad shoulders and brushed over his tight chest. When he stood and pulled down his bottoms, he wore nothing underneath…and like the mist, I stayed there, my vision dancing around him unflinchingly.

I reached for the pile of clothing on top of Michael and handed the slacks up to the naked man before me. "I can touch his clothes."

He snatched them wordlessly, avoiding my eyes, chest heaving furiously as he dressed, only meeting my eyes again when I spoke my next words.

"The car keys are in his jacket pocket."

Eyes on me, he finished dressing, breaking away when he donned the socks, groaning as he forced his feet into Michael's shoes and tied the laces. He straightened and raked his damp hair with his fingers. The final product was surprisingly striking if one didn't look too closely at the somewhat wrinkled clothing, at the shorter than suitable length of his pants, and at the snugness around his shoulders.

And all the while, Michael laid between us in nothing more than his underwear; even those were swiftly removed by the man, but not to be worn. He took Michael's underwear and his own wet inmate's uniform and bunched them together. Then, the man hefted Michael's naked body over his shoulder as easily as if he carried a child. He patted the lapel pocket, and the keys to Michael's Chevrolet convertible jingled.

In the near distance, the helicopters continued their search, and another boat cut its engine. All the while, I sat there, watching.

"What are you doing?" I breathed.

The man in Michael's tux stopped his frenzied movements and looked down at me.

"What was he to you?"

"He was my boss. I was his secretary. No one else would hire me, because I was overqualified. He hired me, told me he loved me, and then took credit for all my work. We were…we were supposed to get married in the spring."

He snorted. "Congratulations."

Perhaps if I would've taken it as an insult toward me, but the furious sneer on his face wasn't for me.

"So, what are you doing?"

"They'll be lookin' for a body in the water, and while your poor fiancé is shorter and lighter, he should make a good distraction for a bit."

And yet, another point at which I may have been able to change things.

With a sigh, as if he'd ended some sort of internal debate, the man held out his free hand.

"Let's go."

OOOOO

 _Once again, my fellow San Franciscans, we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for an urgent alert from the California Highway Patrol. There has been a prison break from Alcatraz. A short while ago this evening, an inmate by the name of Edward Cullen managed the heretofore believed unmanageable feat of breaking out of The Rock. The manner of his escape is still unknown, but as we speak, the FBI, the U.S. Coast Guard, the California Highway Patrol, Sheriff's Deputies, and local police are all on a massive manhunt for this escaped criminal. Warden Olin Blackwell has warned all authorities that this inmate has a superior IQ, which makes him highly dangerous._

 _While the authorities are almost positive that Edward Cullen must have drowned in the treacherous waters around Alcatraz, for sharks, jagged rocks and lethal tides surround the island, they are nevertheless asking that all San Franciscans heed the utmost caution this Halloween eve. Forego the evening's trick-or-treating, bring your children indoors, and hug them tightly to you. Keep your celebrations indoors and keep all strangers out. Alert the authorities if you see an unknown tall, dark-haired man, who appears to be in his late twenties, lurking about. Most of all, do not leave your premises until word emerges that Edward Cullen has surely and deservedly either drowned or been apprehended._

I shut off the car radio and lifted my gaze to the man, to the dangerous, escaped inmate in Michael's tux. He drove carefully – not too slowly and not too fast, nothing to attract the attention of the patrol cars passing us, their lights in a frenzy; sirens blaring.

Perhaps if I would've banged on my window and screamed for help.

Instead, I reached out and rested a hand on his forearm.

The dangerous inmate's breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but I was watching him too closely to miss it. With a side-long glance, he offered me one of his crooked grins.

"Pleased to meet you."

Then, with a snort, he turned back to the windshield.

"Edward…where are we going?"

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **I want to thank the lovely Ipsita Chaudhuri for the GORGEOUS banner she created for this story. I'm amazed by how perfectly she captured the mood, from Edward to the mist and to the infamous Rock. Love you hard, girlie. :)**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **A couple of songs you may want to listen to while reading this story. They're hauntingly gorgeous covers of songs that are already classics, but these covers…well, they fit the mood pretty damn perfectly:**

 _ **Sympathy for the Devil**_ **by Jane's Addiction**

 _ **Everybody Wants to Rule the World**_ **by Lorde**

 _ **Mad World**_ **by Michael Andrews.**

 _ **For What It's Worth**_ **by Malia J**

" **See" you soon. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful thoughts!**

 **Peel open some of your kids' Halloween candy and enjoy. ;)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes also belong to me.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"Someone owes me."

When the man…Edward didn't elaborate, I forewent further questions about the where's, the who's, the why's, and the what's. I didn't care as much about the end destination as I did about the actual ride; or rather, I wasn't very concerned about the end destination. I _should've_ been concerned; I knew that much. But I wasn't.

Instead, a strange sense of exhilaration alighted inside of me. I felt a buoyant sort of curiosity as if I was watching the entire scene from somewhere without instead of within. It was a curiosity I hadn't felt in ages.

The dim, foggy moonlight which filtered through the car's windows illuminated Edward's dark profile, giving him an almost ethereal glow, like a fallen angel. His Adam's apple bobbed continuously, jawline rigidly squared, Romanesque nostrils flaring. His angry gaze was narrowly focused and his brow furrowed. His hair had dried for the most part, and I noted how its shade was lighter than I'd originally thought, more the shade of a brand-new penny than that of an old one.

We headed east from the Bay's Marina District, swiftly away from its proximity to the Presidio and Crissy Field – the U.S. Army's active military and airfield bases. We raced past Fisherman's Wharf, where the fleet of fishing boats – silent and abandoned at the piers until morning – blurred by in drab shades of gray and black.

The entire time, anxious helicopters hovered just a mile or so away, flying in a frenzied figure eight pattern back and forth between the Bay and The Rock. The Coast Guard shone half a dozen beams into the black waters between the Golden Gate and the Bay Bridge. The lighthouse's powerful light searched out everything else the helicopters and ships may have missed. On the road, more than a handful of police cruisers crisscrossed us, sirens blaring.

But Edward was in Michael's tux, and I was in my pretty, light blue taffeta dress. To any passersby, we made a handsome couple indeed inside of Michael's 1958 Chevrolet. As for Michael, by then, his body was likely skimming across the rocky, ocean floor. His parents lived in New York. His friends and associates had other concerns. No one would report him missing for hours at least. When and if his body was found, it would be at least a full day before he was identified.

Nonetheless, despite the dry clothing, periodic shivers still racked Edward's frame. The car heater was on high, yet he continuously brought first one fisted hand then the other up to his mouth and blew warm breath on the top of it. All the while, his eyes shifted between the road ahead and the increasingly frenetic manhunt.

When I lay a hand on his shoulder, Edward gave a startled jump, shooting me a side-long glance. Slowly, I stroked up and down his arm.

"Are you cold?"

He didn't reply.

"We have to get off the streets," I said.

"I know."

He turned southward and drove through North Beach, which overflowed with those young, soul-searching beatnik alley-cats for whom poetry readings went hand in hand with jazz cabarets and strip clubs. The women strutted down the streets in black turtlenecks, black cigarette pants, and their long, straight hair waving behind them, while the men strode around in berets, goatees, and striped shirts. It was Halloween, and so an assortment of costumes joined in the fray.

At the east end of North Beach and cutting through San Francisco's hills was the smaller, urban neighborhood known as The Barbary Coast. In the mid-1800s, the nine-block or so radius was settled by California Gold Rush miners, who turned it into a haven for the lawlessness, drunkenness, and fornication which came to epitomize the wild, wild west. The Barbary Coast's main thoroughfare, Pacific Street, was aptly nicknamed _Terrific Street_ by those who happily frequented its many denizens of sinful pleasure. Unfortunately for these early San Franciscans, the Earthquake of 1906 destroyed much of the Barbary Coast, and the Prohibition Act of the 1920s took care of whatever was left. What remained now of the Barbary Coast housed old warehouses, seedy nightclubs, and underground brothels in disguise.

At the end of Pacific Street, where dilapidated ships lined the docks and abandoned warehouses with broken glass windows barely stood, Edward pulled into a narrow, back alley and cut the engine.

For a few, long moments, we sat in silence, while the bay's mist weaved its way through the alley. I watched it swirl around the lone street lamp at the very end of the block, while in the distance, the police sirens continued blaring. Inside the car, Edward's heavy breaths permeated the air. Peripherally, I saw him scrub a hand down his face. When he spoke, his eyes remained on the windshield.

"You shouldn't be here. I don't know what possessed me to bring you along."

I stared at the misty streetlight and said nothing. When he snorted and turned his eyes my way, I met his gaze.

"I know your piece of shit man is no longer waiting for you," he sneered, "but should I worry about any friends or family members reporting you missing?"

I shook my head. "I have brothers and sisters, and a dad, but they won't worry about me."

His eyes narrowed. Again, I reached out and lay a hand on him, on his forearm this time. His gaze swept from my hand and back to me.

"Are you still cold?"

"No. I suppose I should be grateful to Michael for his car, his girl, _and_ his snug tux." He grinned wickedly. "So what was the special occasion? Why the tux and the fancy dress?" His eyes raked me up and down.

"We had a business dinner with some of his associates regarding a banking transaction in the Caribbean."

Edward's eyebrow quirked, and he nodded slowly. "A banking transaction in the Caribbean; interesting – and just my fucking luck that you'd wander onto the pier at that moment."

"Edward, I'm not here to make this harder for you."

He closed the space between us, leaning in so close I saw the flecks of black and brown that darkened his green pupils.

"Then why _are_ you here, Bella?" When I didn't reply, a smug grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "You know, maybe you shouldn't do that so much; touch me, I mean. You got any idea how long it's been since I've been touched by a woman?"

"How long has it been?" I whispered, my hand still on his forearm.

He backed away, pulling his arm out from under me. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

"A long damn time."

"Edward, is it true what they're saying? Are you dangerous?"

He snorted. "That's an interesting question to ask of a man who just broke out of The Rock, a man who choked the living shit out of your worthless _fiancé_ in front of you."

"You didn't like it when he hit me."

"So I get a pass for murder? Boy, I wish you would've been the prosecutor at my trial. Or maybe…I'm your hero now?" He chuckled mockingly, his amusement falling flat when I didn't chuckle in return.

"You don't frighten me," I admitted.

"Then there's something seriously wrong with you, dame, because you don't know a damn thing about me."

"I've asked you not to call me 'dame'."

He snorted. " _That's_ what you got from that?" With a sigh of frustration, Edward tore his eyes away from me and swept them to the warehouse, which was falling apart to our right.

"Alright, wait in here. I've got business to attend to in there."

"What sort of business?"

Again, he looked at me in bemusement. "You ever heard the saying, 'Curiosity killed the cat?'"

"What sort of business?"

His nostrils flared. "Someone in there owes me money. Now, I'm gonna collect it, and then I'm gonna get the fuck out of Dodge before the shit hits the fan, and I'm sure as hell not bringing along no _dame_ ," he spat with deliberate derision, "who'll just give me more trouble. So you better start thinking about where you want to get dropped off."

For an endless moment, we remained locked in one another's gaze. Then, ever so slowly, I lifted my hand. He caught the movement in his periphery, and when he tore his eyes away from mine, he watched my hand with something close to fear.

I rested my palm on his chest, feeling the way it heaved up and down at my touch, enjoying the shiver that ran up his spine when I dipped my mouth close to his ear.

"Edward…I'll come inside with you."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest are mine. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

The massive steel doors to the old, abandoned warehouse moaned and creaked when Edward shoved them open. I took one step in, and the stale scent of mold, squalor, and rot invaded my nostrils. For a long moment, I was blinded by the darkness.

Then, I felt Edward's arm lightly encircle my waist, his warm breath at the nape of my neck.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's just old."

Unable to see more than dark shadows dancing before me, I allowed him to guide me further in. Slowly, darkness gave way to the most meager of light, which seeped in through the grimy, broken windows from the full moon and from the lone street lamp I'd spied at the end of the block. The mist which swirled in here wasn't made of water vapor, but rather of heavy dust particles and soot kicked up by our intrusion. It was a huge, barren, and cold space, almost as cold as the bay air outside. When I shivered, Edward's arm tightened around me, drawing me into his side.

He led me through the obscurity with the confident stride of someone who knew exactly where he was. All the way at the end, a staircase against the wall came into fuzzy view. At the same time, the sound of muffled voices from above reached my ears, as well as another source of light from atop the staircase. Before we reached the landing, a rough voice spoke through the gloom just a few feet away.

"That's far enough. You two need to turn back around and head the fuck out of here if you know what's good for you."

Footsteps preceded a tall, brawny man, who emerged from the shadows. He was well-dressed for the place, from the tip of his well-shined, wing-tip shoes to the fitted vest over the dress shirt, and all the way to the brim of his Stetson. In between, he held a machine gun pointed at us.

"Fuck," Edward spat between his teeth. Carefully and slowly, he pushed me behind him, keeping his arm bent behind his back and wrapped around my waist. "Put down the gun. I'm here to see Garrett."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? No one sees Garrett," the man said. "Now, turn the fuck around before I pop you _and_ your dame."

Despite the threat, the man's voice was flat and inflectionless; emotionless, as if whether he shot us or not made little difference to him.

"You'll find out pretty soon who the fuck I am once you go get Garrett." Edward's reply was delivered with matching evenness, yet his arm tightened around me. He turned his head sideways and breathed quietly near my ear. "If I tell you to run, you run."

"Ain't nobody fucking running nowhere unless I say," the man said.

This time, when Edward spoke, his voice was no longer emotionless. "Let me make something clear for you: you hurt her, and you're gonna have me to-"

"Marcus, what the fuck is going on down there?" someone called from above the staircase.

The man yelled up without taking his eyes off of us. "We've got intruders, Boss. One of them, a James Dean type in a tux, claims to know you."

"Oh, really? You got the situation under control?"

"Yeah, Boss!"

"I'm coming down then."

Footsteps sprinted down the staircase. All the while, the man held the machine gun pointed at us. The other man reached the landing and gingerly walked to Marcus' side. Though shorter and stockier, he was as well-dressed as Marcus, minus the hat. Instead of a vest, he wore a light cardigan over his shirt and tie. A cigar stuck out of one corner of his mouth as he narrowed his eyes in our direction.

"What do you want me to do with them, Boss?"

The cardigan-wearing man didn't immediately reply.

"Edward?" he finally breathed.

"Yeah, Garrett. It's me."

"Holy…" The man raked a hand through his dark hair. "We heard about your escape on the radio, but we figured you'd…I mean…no one's ever gotten out…swimmin' through those currents…"

"Well, as you can see, I managed it."

For a long moment, the man just stared. Then, he blinked.

"Holy shit, Edward!"

In three strides, he was in front of Edward, and he pulled him into a bear hug, which Edward returned stiffly and one-armed. His other arm remained behind him and around my waist.

The man laughed heartily as he pulled away and clapped Edward's shoulder.

"You crazy fucker; you made it out!"

"I did," Edward replied succinctly.

" _How_?" the man asked in wonder. "I mean…escaping Alcatraz; they say it's impossible. I honestly never thought I'd see you again."

"So, I see."

The man chuckled rather sheepishly. It was at that moment he noticed me, and he jerked a pointy jaw in my direction.

"Who's the dame?"

There was a beat of silence before Edward replied.

"She's a friend, and she doesn't like being called a dame."

The man's ensuing chuckle was much heartier than the previous one. "Then, what's her name?"

Edward didn't reply.

Again, the man chuckled. He wrapped an arm around Edward's shoulder and turned toward Marcus, who still held up the gun.

"Marcus, put the fucking gun down. And what were you doing pointing that thing at this cat and his dame, anyway? Don't you know who this is?"

Marcus lowered the gun and blinked blankly.

"This is Edward Cullen! My partner in crime!"

"Edward…Cullen?" Marcus said, apparently recognizing the name.

"Why, we were thick as thieves when we were kids. But then…" he sighed, "Edward, it fucking killed me how things went down. And then…you got sent to the slammer – to The Rock of all places. I don't know who ratted on you, man, but believe me, I spent quite a few years and a significant amount of my own money trying to figure it out. Unfortunately, whoever it was managed to hide well."

"I'm out now. No point in dwelling on it. I'm just here for-"

"And what's with the tux? You look like a shape in a drape."

Here, Edward gave a short chuckle. "It was necessary. Listen, Garrett-"

"And how'd you get here?"

"I borrowed a car."

" _Borrowed_ , huh?" Garrett snorted. "Borrowed from who?"

"Borrowed from me," I said.

Edward still held me behind him, so that I not only heard the long exhale he released under his breath, but I felt it run down his frame.

Garrett tilted his head sideways and looked over Edward's shoulder at me. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth as his eyes raked me up and down in the relative darkness.

"From you, huh, doll? Well, I guess I should thank you then, for delivering my buddy here safely." He held my gaze.

"Garrett." Edward said the name sharply.

Garrett tore his gaze away from me.

"Edward, my man, things have sure changed around here since you went into the slammer. San Fran ain't what it used to be. You've got all these cats who lost their minds in Korea crawling around the city, begging for handouts. Then, you've got the dames driving their own cars," he grinned, "getting jobs and nonsense and taking good jobs away from the men. And you've got the G-Men everywhere trying to keep us from earning a living too. I'm telling you; it ain't what it used to be."

"We've got no plans to stick around. I just came for my-"

"Edward?"

A female voice floated in the air. Garrett stepped back as a pair of long legs in high, black heels slowly made its way down the staircase. The legs went on for miles before a fitted, black dress made an appearance, wrapped around a perfectly-shaped figure. Long, dark hair shone from in between the shadows which framed a pale face, and wide, shocked eyes.

The woman reached the landing and gasped when she caught sight of Edward. She ran in her heels, and when she wrapped herself around him, the scent of expensive perfume filled my nostrils. Again, he returned the gesture with one arm.

"Edward," she exhaled on a breath.

"Kate."

"Edward, my God." I not only saw but heard the loud kisses she bestowed on him – both cheeks and his forehead. She seemed to pause for a fraction of a second as if debating something before she kissed his cheek again. "You're here," she said, her cheek pressed to his. "When I heard you'd escaped The Rock, I thought you'd drowned or been eaten by sharks. But you're here."

Carefully, Edward pushed her back. "Yeah, that's what _Garrett_ said too."

There was a purposefulness in the way Edward mentioned Garrett – a reminder of sorts. Kate swallowed and gave Edward a shaky smile, pulling away. As she walked off backward, Edward pulled me from behind him and into his side.

Kate stopped, narrowing her eyes.

"Why, hello."

"Hello," I replied.

She smiled at me, but her eyes reflected a thousand different emotions, and none of them friendly.

Nevertheless, she resumed her backward walk. When she was almost at Garrett's side, he reached out and pulled her into him, much the way Edward held me now.

A few moments of loaded silence enveloped the warehouse.

"Garrett, I'm here for my loot," Edward finally said.

Garrett's eyes narrowed. "Your loot?"

"Yeah. My loot," Edward repeated. "My share of the money; remember?"

I wondered if Edward noted the longer than normal pause before Garrett grinned.

"Of course I remember, Edward." The hand he had around Kate's waist stroked her hip. She stood stiffly. "But your loot's not here."

"What do you mean my loot's not here?" Edward hissed.

"Now, don't get your fancy socks into a twist," Garrett said, chuckling. "I've got your share, but it's not here. I had to keep it someplace safe, obviously. Now, I can have someone go get it, but it's going to take a few hours."

"I need it quickly," Edward said. "I've got G-men, Highway Patrol, and all manner of deputies on my tail, and I've got to get out of Dodge before they find me."

"Of course," Garrett replied much more sedately. "Edward…I would've visited you if possible, but it was too dangerous."

"I know that, Garrett."

"Of course, I'll help you," he nodded. "We're buddies. I'll send for your loot. In the meantime, you need to change out of that tux. I've got some clothes you can use."

"I'd appreciate it," Edward said. "And I'll need to crash here 'til my money arrives."

"Of course," Garrett said once again. "You and your dame are more than welcome and safe here. G-men know not to touch this place. Let's go upstairs and-"

"Please don't call me 'dame.'"

Garrett stopped. "What?"

"I told you," Edward said. He spread his long fingers along my hip. "She doesn't like being called 'dame.'"

For a few, long seconds, Garrett studied us. "You did tell me that, didn't you? But you haven't told me her name yet."

"That's because I can answer for myself," I said. "He doesn't have to answer for me. My name is Bella."

Edward gave a short chuckle before pressing his mouth to my temple as if bestowing a kiss.

"Bella, _stop_ ," he hissed.

Garrett chuckled. "Bella! You're one of those types of dolls, aren't you, the type with the bright disease."

"I don't have any sort of disease, Garrett. And _doll_ isn't much better than _dame_."

At this, he broke out into raucous fits of laughter. It echoed on and on in the sparse, dank warehouse.

Edward sighed.

Kate openly glared at me.

"Bright disease, indeed," Garrett said, still grinning when his laughter faded. "And mouthy. You sure that one won't rat us out, Edward? She's got quite a mouth on her. But maybe that's why you let her tag along." He gave me a salacious smile.

"I'm-"

Edward cut me off.

"Let's get a couple of fucking things straight, Garrett. Bella is no rat, she's no dame, and she's no doll. She's a _lady_ , and the next time you look or speak to her that way, I'll knock out all your teeth."

Marcus's machine gun went back up, and Kate gasped.

"Put the gun down, Marcus," Garrett ordered. "Edward and I go way back to when we were young boys picking pockets in order to feed ourselves and our families. We were tight since before his daddy died in the war, his mama went mad, and his little sister…was murdered. I guess I forgot how far I can push him. So…I apologize," he shrugged, looking at me, "and I won't cross that Mason-Dixon line again."

"Thank you."

Garrett nodded, and with a sigh, he resumed his upbeat attitude.

"Now," he clapped his hands together once, "let's take this party upstairs, shall we? I'll have a couple of boys go get your money, and in the meantime…we can catch up."

With that, Garrett turned and made his way up the steps. Kate followed behind him, her eyes on Edward until she disappeared from view. Marcus disappeared back into the shadows.

Edward turned me toward him. His eyes burned, his jaw set tight and rigid. But when he cradled my face in his hands, he did so gently; tenderly. Then, he dropped his face to my eye level and locked me in his heated gaze.

"I should've never brought you along."

I reached up and cupped his rough cheek. "Come on; they're waiting for us."

His eyes grew wide, and he held my gaze as my hand slid slowly down his face, past his neck, skimming his chest and his stomach. When I knit my fingers through his, he exhaled through his nostrils. Hand in hand, we made our way to the staircase.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Are you guys listening to those songs I rec'd for this story? You should. ;)**

 ** _Sympathy for the Devil_** **by Jane's Addiction**

 ** _Everybody Wants to Rule the World_** **by Lorde**

 ** _Mad World_** **by Michael Andrews**

 ** _For What It's Worth_** **by Malia J**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you guys soon.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you so much for all your wonderful thoughts!**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine too.**

* * *

 **In the Mist – Chapter 5**

 _Emmett tries to tell me that even had I changed things, made alterations whether slight or significant in my actions that evening, even more so in my reactions to_ _ **him**_ _within the very first hours of our acquaintance, it was my actions in that warehouse which sealed our fate…sealed_ _ **his**_ _fate._

 _Perhaps it's true then, that like the unavoidable darkness which the mist brings, he sealed his own fate long ago, and there was absolutely no way to alter it._

OOOOO

The ground floor of the old, abandoned warehouse at the corner of Pacific Street was dark, decrepit, and filthy. As Edward and I climbed the staircase to the second story, I imagined it was purposefully left that way to frighten off curious passersby; to have them believe nothing but dust mites, rats, and perhaps others of those creatures that went bump in the night inhabited the grimy building. And while those passersby wouldn't be too far off in those assumptions, only the unluckiest ones, those who dared venture within despite its forbidding presence without, would ever know just how wrong they were.

Because when Edward and I reached the top of the staircase to the second level of the warehouse, we found something completely different.

At one end of the ample space was an elegant and well-stocked bar manned by a tuxedoed gentleman in the process of drying a tumbler. At another end were a handful of gambling tables also manned by tuxedoed men, these in the process of dealing cards. A small stage showcased a five-piece jazz band. At another end, men played pool, smoked pipes and cigars.

And off in a far, dimly-lit corner, a handful of men sat on leather sofas while scantily-dressed women lay on their laps.

Kate made her way straight to the bar, her well-rounded backside moving from side to side with her swift strut. As she took a seat at one of the stools, she snapped her fingers, and a shot glass appeared before her, which she downed in one gulp while simultaneously snapping her fingers for the next.

A few of the men approached Edward and offered him claps on the shoulder or hugs.

Garrett strode to the middle of the spacious floor. When he stopped, he extended his arms and swept them in a circle, like a proud emperor showcasing his empire.

"What do you think, Edward?"

Edward swept his gaze around the room, his expression inscrutable, but his fingers squeezed mine tightly.

"It's changed quite a bit from the red onion we used to run."

His gaze landed at the corner of the room where men openly stroked the bare thighs of the women sitting atop them. When he spoke again, his expression was no longer as benign, and his grip tightened all the more.

"But tell me those women aren't prostitutes, Garrett." There was more than a hint of warning in his tone.

Garrett turned toward Edward. "'Course they're not, Edward. Didn't you and I once make a vow never to deal in prostitution after what happened with Janey?"

At this _assurance_ , Edward visibly exhaled. "Good. I'm glad to hear you've kept to our agreement."

"That makes their degradation acceptable?" I asked.

"Bella, don't."

I looked up at Edward, but he refused to meet my eyes.

"That one there interviews her brains way too much, but I'm not gonna say any more on it." Garrett lifted a palm and chuckled. "Now, let's talk business." He jerked his jaw in the direction of the bar and rambled toward it.

Here, Edward looked at me. "I'll be right back."

I didn't reply.

"I'll be right there, within sight range." When I still failed to respond, he sighed and walked away.

I took a seat on a vacated sofa. For a long while, Edward and Garrett held discourse at one end of the bar while Kate sat watching them from the other end…and I watched from across the room. They laughed with one another, clapped each other's shoulders. Drinks were toasted between them. Other men came and went. As minutes became more, Edward's laughter grew louder. His cheeks became ruddier. Eventually, someone brought him clothing.

Both he and Garrett stood, and while Garrett made his way toward the gambler's side of the palace, Edward turned toward me, his new set of clothing draped over an arm.

"Everything okay?" he mouthed, a lopsided grin lifting one corner of his mouth. Still, I made no reply, and with yet another sigh, Edward turned and disappeared through a narrow hallway.

It only took a handful of minutes before Kate set down her drink and quietly follow him.

And I rested my head against the backrest, shut out as much as I could, and closed my eyes.

OOOOOOOOOO

When I reopened my eyes, Edward was at my side, angled sideways, and watching me through bloodshot eyes. He was no longer in Michael's snug tux but rather in a white, button-down shirt and khaki-colored slacks. He held a half-empty tumbler in one hand.

Kate was coincidentally back at the bar.

For a long moment, Edward and I just held one another's gazes.

"How much longer will we be here?" I finally asked.

"I really don't know."

Silence.

"Who was Janey?"

"My sister."

"What happened to her?"

Edward took a drink from his tumbler, his eyes downcast. "She was murdered…by a John."

"By a John? You mean she was-"

"She was a prostitute, yes. It was her first night on the job. I looked for her once I got wind of what she was planning, but…anyway, he was her first John." He grinned, but it was a dark, morbid grin. "And once I found him, she was his last prostitute."

"You killed the man?"

"I've killed more than one man, as you well know," he sneered. "But yes, I killed that particular man - the first one I killed, actually. So, all in all, it was a night of many firsts."

I swallowed thickly.

"Any other questions?" he scowled.

My eyes trailed to the bar, where Kate was watching us.

"Did you sleep with her?"

He knew exactly of whom I spoke. As he took another drink from his tumbler, his eyes held mine over the rim, and he smacked his lips together when he swallowed.

"Now, then…or both?"

I wasn't even sure myself which one I'd pick until I spoke. "Then."

His reply came quickly. "Yes."

"Did you love her?"

He took another swallow of his amber liquid, his eyes on the tumbler rather than on me.

"It's complicated."

"Apparently, we have time."

"Not too much, Bella. Not too much. But the short answer is that she made it easy for me." He shrugged. "Never had to try too hard with her. Never had to hide what I did or with who. In the slammer, I turned it into love so I could have something to hold on to, I guess; something waiting for me if I ever got out, something besides the money…something real." He held my gaze.

"Did you know she was with Garrett now?"

He nodded. "You hear rumors in the can, even one as tight-lipped as The Rock. But seeing her again, especially after…no, it was never love."

"That sounds pretty unfair to her…and pretty lonely for you."

He pushed back the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I suppose it was a bit of both."

"Did the other women know they weren't the only one?"

"Sometimes they did; sometimes they didn't."

"So, you did the same to other women that was done to your sister."

When his eyes met mine, they burned with indignant fire. "I never made any chick any promises. I never pretended to be a fucking saint. I never hit a woman, like your precious Michael," he hissed. "I never paid a woman for sex or forced her to do anything she didn't want to do. Whatever they did with me, they did because they wanted to. I never used a woman's body without her consent," he spat.

"But you _used_ their bodies."

His eyes grew wide, and he jerked back as if I'd struck him.

"By your own admission, you used them, regardless of what they were feeling."

"How was I supposed to know what they were feeling?" he seethed. "I'm no fucking mind reader."

"It doesn't take a mind reader, Edward. It just takes a man willing to see beyond himself. I have to use the bathroom."

For a long while, his eyes remained downcast.

"It's at the end of that hallway there." When he lifted his eyes, grinned, and slipped his hand into mine, I was taken aback, especially considering our topic of conversation. His mouth brushed the side of my cheek. At the same time, I felt the coolness of the small, sharp object he placed in my palm.

"I didn't sleep with her now, Bella. There's a window in the bathroom leading to a fire escape." He whispered the words so quietly, spoke them so quickly, they were more like faint sounds to be pieced together than actual words. "Take it down to the back of the warehouse, get in your car, drive away, and don't look back."

I shut my eyes and swallowed hard. "Edward."

"There's no loot coming."

"I know."

"You're too good for this. Now, go."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **Have a great weekend. "See" you soon. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts. :)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest are mine. So are all mistakes.**

* * *

 **In the Mist – Chapter 6**

" _You never did like things too easy, Bella."_

 _Afterward, those words from Dad stay with me. Perhaps because they remind me of something else he once said; that we're born with natural instincts. Some people are instinctively joyous, while others gravitate toward sadness. Some are instinctively drawn to men; some to women. Some people prefer things easy; others enjoy a bit of a challenge._

 _He also used to say Fight or Flight is instinctive. Some men and women flee at the first sign of a mishap, while others choose to stay and face the conflict._

 _Jacob, on the other hand, believes Instinct, while imperative, takes a back seat to plain old focus. He took me out to the woods once and chased me around. Of course, I knew he was nearby, but I didn't know where exactly. When he jumped out from behind a tree, I fell to the ground in a heap of uselessness._

 _When he was done laughing, he said,_

" _See, you knew I was around, but even when your instincts are there, you've gotta be focused on not losing focus."_

 _At the time, it didn't make sense._

OOOOO

 **1959**

Outside in the dark and mostly barren streets, only the occasional shape performed a shadowy dance across the walls, like a reminder of a world existing beyond the run-down warehouse. Overgrown rats which were fed by the bay scampered past the alley. Vagrants who lived by the bay stumbled unevenly in the mist…

The mist was ever-present, ever wafting off the bay – always ready to act indiscriminately as a shield from…or for danger.

As I stood by the bathroom window contemplating the obscurity outside, these strange thoughts encircled my mind much in the way the mist encircled the rusty fire escape which was to be _my_ escape. It would be relatively simple to mount and navigate. The window was large, as warehouse windows often were. As my thumb stroked the small steel item in my hand, I pondered how there would be no need for squeezing or performing difficult acrobatics to climb out.

Resting my knife on the window's wooden ledge, I grabbed the windowsill and tugged it upward. It gave with only the slightest creak of resistance, a creak easily covered by the band's music. I exhaled; whether out of relief or disappointment, I still don't know. Through the open sliver, another reminder hit me of what awaited beyond the warehouse: the faint sound of police sirens, far away yet still searching for an escaped convict. Searching for Edward. I wondered if they'd discovered Michael's body in the bay yet.

It would be so simple to escape now. So easy.

By the time the first gunshot rang out from somewhere in the dark warehouse behind me, more than a few minutes had elapsed. Through the window, I saw Michael's car speed down the narrow alley. Its tires screeched as it made a sharp turn at the end of the block where the lone streetlight glowed like a beacon. When the car turned the corner, two more gunshots echoed.

Nevertheless, I could've still climbed out. I could've taken my chances, sprinted up that fire escape, made my way to the back of the warehouse, and ran.

Fight or Flight.

Instinct versus Focus.

The screaming stampede erupted as I padded silently down the narrow hallway through which I'd reached the bathroom. The stampede was followed by silence – a relative silence all things considered. The five-piece band went mute. The bookie no longer called out numbers. No balls bounced off the billiard tables. No giggling emerged from the scantily-dressed girls.

Relative silence, except for his voice…

At first, it was low and indistinct; yet, my skin prickled, already recognizing the variations in his timbre. My heart's pace quickened. I reached the end of the hallway and flattened myself against the shadowy wall, knife in hand, listening.

"…guess you forgot I don't get drunk, Garrett."

Slowly and carefully, pressing my lips together and holding my breath, I pulled my head up. Then, I angled it forward inch by languid inch.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did forget. You like to keep it real sharp, don't you? Edward Cullen: smart, strong, and…what was it Kate used to say?"

Forward an inch. Two inches.

" _Edward's everything plus_ ," Garrett said, his voice mimicking Kate.

"No, Garrett! You know that was in the past! I'm yours now!"

Three inches, and my eyes dragged past the wall's corner.

"Oh, can the fucking lip already, Kate. You'll spread your legs for him right here in front of everyone if he asks you to. Think I didn't see you follow him out earlier?"

"Nothing happened, baby! I swear it!"

"Yeah, I'm sure if that's true it wasn't for lack of _your_ trying."

I heard Edward's sigh. "Just answer the question, Garrett. Where's my loot?"

It took a few moments for my eyes to understand the entire scene.

Halfway across the room, Edward stood with his back to me. His voice was calm and steady, especially considering the fact that he held Garrett in a headlock, with a gun pointed to his temple. His other hand was outstretched and holding a machine gun pointed at half a dozen men surrounding him in a semi-circle – all with their own guns pointed at Edward.

I squeezed my lips together all the tighter.

Kate stood a few short feet away, facing them. A bit further, an unknown, suited-up man was splayed out on the floor, face down, his fedora floating in a puddle of blood.

"Edward, the coppers are on their way. What's more, you've got half a dozen guns pointed at you, and I've got fellas downstairs and all along the perimeter of this here warehouse. If you kill me, you won't make it outta here alive. _FUCK_!" He howled when Edward dug the gun's barrel deeper into his temple.

In contrast, Edward's tone was almost conversational.

"Tell me what you did with my money?"

"Fuck you!"

Kate reached out toward Edward.

"Kate, don't touch me. Garrett, what did you do with my loot?"

" _Your_ fucking loot!" Garrett spat. His voice shook with fury, envy…and a current of fear he couldn't completely disguise. "Everything was always fucking yours, wasn't it? They looked to _you_ , they followed _you_ … _she_ wanted you."

"So, you bought them all with my money."

A handful of loaded seconds transpired.

" _You_ set me up, didn't you, you dirty rat?" Edward said serenely. "All along, it was you."

"You should've just stayed locked up on The Rock. Better yet, the sharks or the rocks should've shredded you to fucking pieces in that water! But, _no_ , not you. 'No one escapes Alcatraz,' they say." Garrett chuckled mockingly. "I should've fucking known Edward Cullen would! But you know what? That's just fine because unless you put the gun down, you _will_ die tonight; you and that smart-mouth little whore of yours- Oof!"

Edward's pistol whipped Garrett's temple so hard and fast, Garrett didn't even get a chance to blink. Instead, he howled as Edward dug the pistol all the deeper into Garrett's temple. When Edward spoke next, his mouth close to Garrett's ear, he no longer sounded quite as composed.

"You want to know something, Garrett?" he hissed. "Even before I figured out you'd spent my money – and by the way, I figured that out pretty quickly – I knew I'd have to kill you. Want to know why? Because of the predatory way you kept looking at her…at _Bella_. You used to look at Kate that way. But, Bella? No. Not Bella," Edward seethed at Garrett's ear. "You can't have her, and I won't let you hurt her. So, she got in her car, and she left because she's too good and too smart for the likes of you or me. And now, I've gotta kill you to make sure she stays safe."

"But, Edward, baby, what about me? It was always you, Edward!"

"Yet, you let him buy you, and you stood by when he not only ratted me out but let me take the fall for everything."

"Edward, what was I supposed to do? I'm just a girl! Besides, I told you I'd leave with you if you still wanted me!" Kate yelled indignantly.

When Edward ignored her offer, Garrett chuckled. "Thrown over for the one with the brains, weren't you, you faithless bitch?"

Yet again, Kate switched strategies. "Garrett, baby, of course I'll stay with you! It was always you!"

Garrett must've given some sort of signal, either a slight tilt of the head, a purse of the lips, a twitch of the nose, something. Kate's eyes crossed as the bullet struck her forehead. She collapsed in the next second.

I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed back the bile in my throat.

"She didn't deserve that," Edward said roughly.

"Ready to join her, Edward? I'm sure she'd love that, to have you again in death if not in life."

"You'll be getting there first, buddy. As for me, we'll see."

"Like I said, even if you pull that trigger, you're not getting out of here. But maybe…you know that already, and all this has just been your way of buying time."

Silence.

"You see, Edward, I do remember how you operate. You're not one to monologue. You're a man of action, so the fact that you've kept me alive this long, talking and talking and talking…makes me think you've been stalling for a specific reason – or for a specific someone's benefit."

Edward cocked the gun. "I'm not-"

"She hasn't left the building, you know," Garrett spat quickly.

"She did," Edward contradicted through what sounded like clenched teeth. "She's long gone."

"She's not, and I should know because I sent out a couple of the fellas to get rid of little Miss Hot Brain's getaway car. _And_ I should also know because I had fellas on the roof just waiting for one or both of you to try to make your escape. So, she's either hiding out somewhere, too scared to move, and proving she's just like every other useless dame around, or if she did have the pluck to make her way to the roof," he chuckled, "my guys have her cooling her heels and waiting for me. And man, do I plan to have fun-"

"You rotten piece of shit!" Edward spat, making Garrett scream when he pushed the gun's barrel so deep into his temple it sank in. "If you-"

I don't know how Edward would've finished that statement, what exact threat he would've delivered.

My dad's and Jacob's words about instinct versus focus and fight or flight and everything in between all jumbled together into a complex…yet absolute decision.

I pushed away from the wall and beyond the threshold of the massive warehouse room.

"Edward, I'm here."

He didn't turn.

Instead, the attention of every other thug diverted toward me. In that fraction of a second of their inattention, of _their_ loss of focus, Edward sprayed them with bullets. As they went down like dominoes, they returned fire out of instinct but with the inaccuracy of fellas going down hard. As they fell, their bullets strayed haphazardly around the room, and toward me.

I crashed against the wall.

"BELLA!" Edward roared.

When I pushed myself off the wall, shaking as I checked myself, I rushed forward again, toward his frantic voice. This time, he was turned my way, wild-eyed. In that one moment of Edward's inattention, of his loss of focus, Garrett elbowed him in the ribs.

Edward reeled back, and Garrett freed himself. At that same moment, more of Garrett's men rushed up the staircase, armed and ready.

"Edward!"

Edward spun around. With both arms up and free, he sprayed the thugs with machine gun and pistol. They fell backward as they attempted to return fire. All the while, Edward ran toward me. When he reached me, he grabbed my hand, dragged me through the hallway, and back toward the bathroom. Voices and frenzy chased us.

"He's got men on the roof!" I said as Edward locked the bathroom door.

"We've got no other choice."

We pushed up the window, and gunfire erupted against and through the door. Bullets crashed against the walls. Plaster flew.

"GO!"

Edward shoved me through the window with one hand while he returned fire with the other.

I climbed, tripping over myself, my vision blurring at the edges while the rest tunneled. I climbed. More gunfire followed me. Police sirens neared. I climbed. Whimpers and screams resounded from the street. Gunfight down below, in the street. I climbed.

Edward was behind me now. With a hand on my lower back, he half guided, half shoved me up. As I reached the top landing, he fisted the hair at my crown so hard, bewildered stars danced before my eyes. Then, with the leverage he'd acquired, he pushed me down and cleared the ledge of the roof first.

More gunfire erupted.

Edward flung the empty machine gun. It whizzed by me and fell down the steps as he returned fire with the pistol. When that was emptied, he threw it aside and reached for my arm, yanking me over the ledge like a rag doll. We ran over the tarred roof, and past another handful of men lying in pools of blood.

"Go, go, go!"

He held my arm in a vice grip, reached the other side of the roof first and jumped over the ledge. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he yanked me down. We ran down the corroded fire escape. He held me back when we reached the last rung, jumped down the rest of the way, and pulled me by the legs, his hands riding up my skirt as he squeezed my thighs for purchase.

And there, in the middle of the abandoned street, half-hidden by the mist while gunfire rang out all around us, was Michael's car. A pair of suited-up men, each with machine gun in hand, spilled out like puppeteers without masters from the open doors of the passenger and the driver's side, as if they'd been preparing to defend themselves.

Again, Edward didn't hesitate. He pulled me toward the passenger side, dragged out the body, and pushed me into the vacated seat before slamming the door behind me. At the driver's side, he did the same.

In the next moment, my face was trapped between his strong hands, his livid gaze boring into mine, mouth twisted in a scowl of fury.

"You goddamn reckless, stubborn…"

His mouth crashed over mine, lips hard and urgent, possessive…and all the more exhilarating for it. I kissed him back just as wildly, nipping his lips, opening anxiously for his tongue, and stroking it with mine.

He pulled away, breathing hard and uneven, eyes still full of fire. "We need a place."

I cupped his cheek. "I have somewhere we can go."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **Chapter Song Rec:**

 _ **Wings**_ **by Birdy**

 _ **Oh lights go down**_ _ **  
**_ _ **In the moment we're lost and found**_ _ **  
**_ _ **I just wanna be by your side**_ _ **  
**_ _ **If these wings could fly**_ _ **  
**_ _ **Oh damn these walls**_ _ **  
**_ _ **In the moment we're ten feet tall**_ _ **  
**_ _ **And how you told me after it all**_ _ **  
**_ _ **We'd remember tonight**_ _ **  
**_ _ **For the rest of our lives…**_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful thoughts. Slowly making my way through reviews. :)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine too.**

* * *

 **In the Mist – Chapter 7**

Breathing hard, shaking with an admixture of adrenaline and fear, Edward and I sped through the dark and misty San Francisco streets.

I gave him directions, a left onto Lombard and away from the dangers of the Barbary Coast, a right toward the Golden Gate. In the earliest hours of the morning, there weren't many other cars, but Edward zipped around those we did encounter. We were no longer concerned with remaining inconspicuous. Our one and only goal was to get away. Nonetheless, as we left San Francisco behind and crossed the bridge into Marin County, Edward and I dared a glance at one another. That was when I saw the blood on his arm, seeping through the white shirt.

"Edward, you're hurt," I breathed.

He shook his head. "It just grazed me. Don't worry about it. Are you okay?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

I turned and looked through the windshield behind us. The Golden Gate's lights glowed through the darkness. There was one lone car a few yards away, not far, but not too close. I turned back around.

Edward's eyes scanned the rearview mirror. "Just that one car there, but…it doesn't seem to be interested in us. Looks like we got lucky."

"Yes. We were lucky."

We crossed through Sausalito, which was in the middle of a semi-renaissance since the end of the Second World War, when its shipping docks switched from building warships to housing yachts for the well-to-do. Beyond Sausalito, we took the Panoramic Highway, which hugged the coastline and led us to the base of Mount Tamalpais, Marin County's literal crowning glory. At the base of this mountain was a one-room cabin perfectly situated, surrounded by the massively tall redwoods of Muir Woods Forest, and perpetually shrouded by the coastal fog which wafted in from the ocean.

With a few more quiet words to direct him, Edward pulled the car to the side of the dirt road and switched off the lights and the engine.

We sat wordlessly in the dark for a few moments, while the redwoods' canopy created shadows across the car's windows and windshield, the coastal breeze blowing the branches to and fro.

"Who's cabin-"

"Michael's."

Edward snorted. "Should've known. How far away are the nearest neighbors?"

"There's no one for at least a mile in each direction."

Out of my periphery, I saw him nod. "Good. Looks like Michael knew how to pick 'em."

"Edward, I want to-"

"Christ, I told you to leave. You could've gotten…if he'd found you…you're lucky he didn't…they didn't…Jesus Christ, I would've crushed his...and he fucking got away." He raked a hand through his hair and fisted it hard. The entire time, his angry gaze remained on the blackened windshield. "I have no idea how we made it out of there alive."

"I couldn't make myself leave you."

He turned his furious eyes toward me, nostrils flaring, his chest heaving. But when his mouth met mine, it was gentle this time, a few feather-like brushes back and forth, and he exhaled and pulled back.

"Those are famous last words," he breathed, cupping my cheek. "Come on. Let's go inside Michael's cabin."

Michael hadn't owned the one-room cabin for long. It was minimal, but stocked with the necessities, and containing electricity and indoor plumbing. When I switched on the light, there was a small kitchen with running water, and with a couple of cabinets stocked with nonperishables. A radio rested on the minuscule kitchen counter space. There was a small, wood table with four chairs, and a two-seater, cream-colored upholstered sofa. Off in a corner was a small, single bed, with a homespun quilt and one pillow. To the side was a tiny bathroom with a stand-up shower stall and a decently stocked medicine chest. Pretty curtains were drawn over the two windows in the cabin.

"The sink has drinkable, running water. There are glass cups in the cabinet if you're thirsty. And there are crackers and cans of chili if you're hungry."

While Edward looked around the space and nodded silently, I looked at the stain of dry blood on his sleeve.

"I'll go get the first aid kit from the bathroom."

As I took a step, he reached for my hand.

"Bella." His voice held a hint of panic.

I looked up at him, and he held my gaze and swallowed.

"Never mind. Just…don't go far, okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right back, Edward."

"Alright." He offered me a faint smile.

When I returned, Edward was by the radio, turning the knobs. Static emerged.

"All the stations are off for the evening. They won't be back on for a few hours."

"I know," I said.

"We'll have to wait and see what they're saying about me…about us."

He sighed, and without looking at me, he made his way to the table, where he'd served us both glasses of water. I set down the first-aid kit and swallowed back my glass in one go. All the while, Edward watched me.

"What?" I said when I set down my empty glass.

"It's good to see you're human and show at least some signs of shock." He took a seat before me and looked up. "You're just…I don't know any other person…man or woman, who'd be so calm right now."

"You're calm," I pointed out.

"I only look it, Bella," he admitted. "I keep picturing you…thinking what could've happened…"

"I'm fine," I said.

He nodded. "Alright, take a seat so I can clean you up."

"Edward, I'm fine, but your arm-"

"I told you it's just a graze," he said dismissively. Then, he murmured more gently, "Come here."

I approached him slowly and stood between his legs. When Edward reached up and rested his hands on my waist, my skin burned at his touch. For a few, wonderful seconds, his fingers stroked my skin, and his eyes held mine. Then slowly, he lifted a hand to the side of my face and stroked and wiped there.

"Some of the plaster from the bathroom wall must've nipped you." All the while, he kept me locked in his gaze. His fingers skimmed down my face, past my neck, past my ribs and waist, and stopped at my thigh, just over the hem of my dress. "And here," he said, "you have some scrapes here. I saw them when I held you as you jumped off the fire escape. You must've gotten them while we ran."

I broke away from his gaze and looked down at myself, lifting up my dress just slightly, to where Edward gestured. Edward's eyes followed my movements. There were indeed a few cuts and scrapes on my thigh.

"It's nothing too bad. I'll take care of them."

"No," he whispered, and I met his eyes again. " _I'll_ take care of them."

I nodded wordlessly, my heart racing.

"Okay, but let me clean out your arm first. We need to make sure there are no bullet fragments, and then take care against infection."

Edward chuckled softly. "You talk like you know exactly what you're doing."

I smiled and with a series of uneven breaths, turned my attention to the first-aid kit.

* * *

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 **"See" you soon. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Some of you have interesting theories going on…**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.**

* * *

 **In the Mist - Chapter 8**

" _You can't change who you are."_

 _He tells me this with something of a condescending smile as if my whimsical attempt has been doomed to failure from the start despite his indulgence. He's always believed I should be proud – even honored; he certainly is. He wears his honor like a badge; they all do, and God knows I tried, but…_

 _But, who knows? Perhaps all along, they were right. Perhaps, had I felt honored, had I never fought to change the unchangeable, I would've found a way out of the mess I created when I simply and unavoidably reverted to being myself: Isabella Swan._

OOOOO

 **1959**

"You look a bit dazed," Edward said. "I hope you're not going into shock _now_ , while you're fooling with my arm there."

With a smile, I looked up and met his green gaze. "No; not quite. I've seen worse."

"Have you?"

He sat on one of the four wooden chairs in the cabin, while I bent over his arm. His blood-stained shirt hung off the back of the chair. The first aid kit, a porcelain dish full of discarded, blood-soaked gauze pads, and a bottle of medicinal alcohol rested on the table.

Despite the situation, I'd noticed a few things: Edward had broad shoulders and muscular arms which were interspersed with scars and tattoos of various dates – 02/27/45; 10/11/47; 6/25/49. His toned, flat stomach periodically contracted as I tended to his wound.

And when he returned my smile, it wasn't one of the caustic, humorless smiles to which I'd become accustomed in the few hours I'd known him. Instead, he offered me a softly teasing smile, one which made me look away and return my focus to the wound just below his broad shoulder.

"I was actually thinking of my family." I wiped the area thoroughly with an alcohol-soaked gauze pad.

He flinched slightly, hissing through his teeth. The bullet which grazed him pulled off bits of skin and membrane, and left behind a bright red, oozing, horizontal gash about four inches long and an inch wide – just above the earliest date on his left arm.

"I'm sorry," I said, keeping my eyes on his wound, "but we have to make sure it's clean before I stitch it."

"Don't be sorry," he replied. "You're gentle compared to the nurses I've had over the past few years."

"So, I'm gentle compared to _Alcatraz_ nurses. Thank you."

When I glanced up at him and smirked, Edward chuckled sheepishly.

"You're gentle, period. Where did you learn to tend to a wound so well – was it with your family?"

The gauze pad slipped out of my hand and weighed down by alcohol and blood, dropped swiftly to the floor. Gingerly, I crouched and picked it up, setting it atop the dish on the table.

"What do you mean?" I retrieved needle and thread from the first aid kit.

"Well, you mentioned you had brothers and sisters. I figured-"

"Yes." I pulled the thread through the needle. "When we were younger, my brothers would come home after…scuffles, and more than once, I stitched them up."

"That's men for you, huh?" he grinned. "Always roughhousing."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

When I pricked his skin with the needle, he hissed again, muscle chords tightening, veins protruding. He watched me silently as I took a stitch and then another.

"I'm sorry about your dad," I whispered, my eyes flashing quickly to the date above the stitches I administered.

"How do you know-"

I met his gaze. "Garrett said your dad died in the war. I recognize the dates."

He nodded slowly. "Iwo Jima; he was one of the thousands of infantrymen whose death made little difference one way or another."

"It made a difference to you."

Again, he nodded, all the slower. "Yeah. Yeah, it did. I was fourteen. Janey was ten."

"And you took over as the man of the family."

He shrugged his good shoulder. "I tried, but…Mom lost her mind and slowly wasted away, while Janey…" His gaze hardened. "And the other two dates, Bella? Want to take a stab at the other two dates?"

"The one in 1947 is for your mom, the date when…she killed herself."

He nodded silently, swallowed thickly.

"And the one in 1949 is for Janey."

"Yeah," he said without pause, the word no more than a breath. "The day she was murdered. She was…she was fourteen."

Afterward, I worked in silence, keeping my head down and focusing through eyes which now blurred and stung. When I finished, I set the needle and leftover thread in the dish, and I straightened.

Edward's good arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me sideways onto his lap. For one, long moment, we remained locked in one another's gaze.

"It wasn't your fault."

"You think you know me so well. What makes you think I blame myself?" he hissed. When I cupped his cheek, he shut his eyes, shaking his head. "I should've been there. Maybe if I would've-"

"You were young too, Edward, and you did the best you knew how."

He snorted. "Yeah; I stole, I ran rackets, and then…I killed."

Gently, I caressed his cheek, stroked his temple with the pads of my fingers.

"God, Bella…" The words came out strangled, and he swallowed before he reopened his eyes. " _How_ do you understand me so well?" His hand slid under my nape, pulled me closer, green eyes searching. Our mouths met, and he exhaled in relief, lips molding around mine, tasting. With a soft kiss, he pulled away. I released his cheek, resting my hand on his shoulder.

"Let's take care of you now."

When I nodded, he grinned. As he stretched around me and reached for the alcohol and gauze, I lifted my destroyed blue taffeta dress above my thigh, revealing the handful of nicks and scrapes I'd gotten at some point between the warehouse bathroom and our rapid descent down the second fire escape.

When Edward's eyes returned and fell on my thigh, his Adam's apple bobbed as he took in my scrapes.

"They're not so bad," I said.

"No," he murmured. "No, I suppose they're not." Yet, he continued staring.

"Should I stand? Will that make it easier to-"

"No. No, please don't stand." With a series of uneven breaths, he carefully dabbed a gauze pad over my scrapes, gently cleansing them, his eyes narrowed, brow furrowed.

"Tell me more about yourself, Bella."

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

"You said you had brothers and sisters?" He discarded the gauze pads, reached for bandages.

"I have two older brothers, a younger sister, and a sister-in-law whom I love as if she was my blood."

"Why?"

I wondered if he was distracting me or himself with the questions.

"Because she humanizes my brother."

Edward chuckled. "Is he that bad?"

"No," I replied after a pause. "He's good, and I love him, but we have different views."

Edward snorted and looked at me. "I can understand that."

"What does that mean?" I frowned.

He chuckled. "You're a woman of strong conviction, Bella," he clarified. Then, he leaned in close. "I happen to like that," he whispered, "but…I can see how an older brother might find you a bit maddening." He laughed when I glared at him.

The entire time, Edward tended to each individual scrape with featherlike tenderness. He was aroused under me; of course, I could feel it. Yet, he remained focused on the task – focused on not losing focus, on not losing control.

"There," he breathed when he was done. "Should I bandage them?"

"No. They'll be fine."

He nodded and swallowed.

"You have a gentle touch too," I said.

He snorted and shrugged. "Janey liked to jump around. I cleaned her up a few times."

I smiled, raked a hand through his hair and watched his uneven breaths, his attempts to remain in control.

"Edward…"

"Bella, you must be exhausted. The sun'll be out in a couple of hours. At that point, we have to come up with a plan. We may have to abandon the cabin, stash the car somewhere…" He shook his head, eyes tightening. "God, what the hell have I gotten you into?"

"Listen to me," I said, "everything I've done, everything I'll do from here on in, has been willingly and with complete knowledge of what it means."

He held my gaze, a somewhat bemused frown marring his forehead. With another snort, he kissed the tip of my nose, cradled me in his arms, and stood.

"You need to sleep. Come on, I'll take the sofa."

He carried me to the small bed in the corner, but this time, as he set me down and tried to pull away, I was the one who pulled him back in.

"Bella…"

"You don't fit on that sofa."

He quirked a brow. "I don't fit on this bed either."

"If we situate ourselves just right…" I pulled back the quilt, coaxed him as he warily lifted his long legs over the mattress, one then the other. "Come on." I pushed him down while he watched me with something akin to panic. When he was completely vertical, stiff, and straight, I turned my back to him. Then, I pushed my spine against his bare chest.

At first, he remained completely still, his chest unmoving, breaths withheld. Slowly, first one arm then the other wrapped around me, resting lightly and hesitantly on my stomach. As I adjusted myself against his frame, he pulled me in all the way, molding me against him. When he kissed my nape, I melted into him, arching further into his tender touch and into his hard body.

Soft lips brushed against my neck and shoulders.

"Sleep, Bella," he said, holding me tighter.

"I will."

"Don't leave." The words were barely words, more like motions of his mouth against my skin. Perhaps he was already half asleep and unable to keep up the struggle.

"I won't."

And I exhaled and closed my eyes.

OOOOO

It was still dark when I woke. Instinct, I suppose.

Edward's steady breaths bathed my neck, his arms held me tight. I unwound them carefully; slowly. Small bed or not, however, it had to be better than what he'd become accustomed to. His deep breaths didn't alter, not even as I left the bed.

Outside, the full moon's rays slivered through the canopy of redwoods, glowing through the ever-present mist which swirled around the massive tree trunks, and always hid both the good and the bad indiscriminately.

I wrapped my arms around myself as I stared up at the foggy sky, at the shroud of darkness, and I felt him behind me before I heard the light crunch of his feet over dry leaves.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you too, Isabella."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **"See" you soon. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. So do all mistakes.**

 **In the Mist – Chapter 9**

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you too, Isabella." As he exhaled, the woods went still, not an insect crawled nor an owl hooted. "I've been keeping an eye on you, while giving you as much privacy…and discretion as possible."

Silence.

"How are Jacob and Alice…and Dad?"

"They're well." He paused. "If you'd like, I can ask them to-"

"No. No, I'm not ready to see them."

"Bella…you can't keep blaming yourself or them for wars that had to happen and that were always out of our hands."

"I know," I whispered shakily. "It's what we are, but all that bloodshed...so many lives taken. And Jacob seemed to enjoy it all so much."

"Bella, our job isn't to determine who goes and who stays."

I looked up at the rounded moon, which was brilliantly clear, no fog or clouds around to obscure it.

"No. Our job is to take those whose time is up, regardless of who they leave behind. And then…the whole cycle repeats itself."

"As you said, it's a cycle."

For a while, neither one of us spoke.

"I've done nothing wrong."

"You sort of have, little sis, and you know it, which is why I'm here."

I spun around.

Like subjects worshiping at the foot of their beloved master, the mist danced joyously around Emmett's tall frame. It was careful not to touch him, not to mar his elegant wool coat, dampen his Stetson or take the shine off his wing-tipped black patents. Everyone, even nature, was instinctively careful around Emmett; everyone except those of us he loved…and who loved him in return, for we were the privileged few.

"I've done nothing wrong," I repeated. "You said I had discretion. I've always had discretion."

Here, he quirked a dark eyebrow. "Discretion in _timing_ , and only slight at that, and you've gone way beyond discretion, Bella."

"It wasn't his time or place," I said, nostrils flaring.

"It kind of was," Emmett said. His eyes strayed to my upper thigh. "Your bullet wounds are healed. When he sees-"

"I'll take care of it."

"To what end, Isabella?" he asked. "For how long do you plan to interfere with the order of things, and to what end?"

He paused and waited patiently for my reply. The question itself was asked blandly, with a sense of calm, which was a common trait for us. We weren't supposed to be impatient or impetuous, anxious or excitable, not in our line.

Not like Jake, who was always too brash and getting into trouble for it, or like Alice, whose extreme youth made her too impulsive and therefore still unprepared to go out into the world…into the mist.

Emmett was enigmatically thoughtful; inscrutably unreadable unless he wanted to be read – and so very much like Edward that I realized suddenly why I was so able to read him so easily, from the very first moments of our acquaintance.

When moments became minutes, and I still failed to reply, Emmett sighed. Inspecting the rim of his hat, he spoke quietly.

"It's not how things are done, and you know it."

I lost all semblance of our supposed innate control, something which, much like Emmett, was uncommon for me.

"Don't think I've forgotten how Rosalie became your _wife_ ," I hissed, "when those Salem supposed Men-of-God accused her of horrors, so that they could ravage her," I said, my voice shaking, "and burn her at the stake! I was there with you when you saved her from the flames, when you took her and brought her into our realm, and afterward, _I_ was the one who helped you take care of those monstrous men!"

He was silent for a long while.

"You're correct, of course, Bella," he said, "but you're leaving out a few salient facts. Rosalie _was_ a witch; though not of the dark-forces-worshiping type they accused her of being. Yet, she was a witch, who as she died _saw_ us, and _chose_ this existence, Bella. The fact that she saw us in our true form proved she was meant for this existence, and then she _chose_ to be my wife."

I swallowed thickly.

"Has he…does he know what you are?" he asked as if he didn't already know the answer. "No," he replied for himself. "Which means, even if he ever chose you, he's not meant for our realm, because he doesn't _see_ you."

"Emmett, I've never asked you or Dad for anything-"

"That's not true."

"Some space to pretend I'm more than I am," I seethed, fisting my hair. "That's it!"

"That's it?" he smirked.

"We're set on this world to walk among them, yet we're not supposed to want to experience their world?

"Because Dad loves you so much…because _I_ love you so much, throughout the centuries, you've been given way more leeway than most of our kind. I've encouraged you in every instance of female empowerment you've undertaken, haven't I?"

"Yes, but-"

"Who was the first one I looked to for assistance when those so-called Men-of-God in charge of the witch trials met their end?"

"Me," I spat begrudgingly.

"You. Throughout the centuries, you've been sent to handle those responsible for hurting women in the name of religion, capitalism, industrialism, and even democracy. Yet, you've also been there to whisper and further ideas of women's rights in America, in Europe, in New Zealand, in China, and countless other places. So, yes, Bella, you're wonderful at what you do, and Dad and I have been immeasurably proud. No one disputes your dedication. You don't take them too soon or too late. When they're hurting others, as was Michael, you divert that hurt onto yourself so as to spare innocents. You're patiently thoughtful when you need to be, and quickly avenging when it's called for. But now…"

"I'm in love with him."

"You can't be in love with him, Bella," he replied sedately. "Our kind rarely-"

" _You_ fell in love with Rosalie!"

"Rosalie saw _me_ , the real _me_ , and loved _me,_ " he said, no longer sounding quite as composed. " _He_ doesn't see the real you, which means he's not meant for this realm. What's more, Isabella, Rosalie was a witch, but a witch for good, not evil. Edward Cullen…is not a good person. He used people, lied to them, stole from them. He ran rackets and prostitution rings. He-"

"Not prostitution," I contradicted through gritted teeth, shaking my head furiously. "He was _never_ involved in prostitution. His old partner started that garbage after he ratted out Edward, so he could steal his money and take over the crew. Edward _hates_ prostitution for a similar reason to why our family hates it," I choked. "So don't you dare accuse him of that!"

"He murdered," Emmett said succinctly. "It's why he was sent to Alcatraz, and the only reason he was allowed to escape and to make it out of that treacherous water, was because our elders decreed it. He was always meant to be the one who ended Michael, and had you not interfered, he would have ended Garrett as well, as decreed, before meeting his own-"

"No! No, that's not what was supposed to happen." I took a step forward, ready to beg and plead. "Emmett, his entire family was taken from him. His father was claimed by a gruesome war. His mother was claimed by madness. His little sister was ravaged and murdered in much the same way Rosalie was ravaged, yet while it was acceptable for us to avenge her, he was wrong to avenge his sister?"

"Bella, you're an intelligent being, and your arguments hold much merit, but the one responsible for his sister's death wasn't the only person he killed before his fate was decided. What's more, Isabella, Edward Cullen is not the first person to have a difficult life. Yet, not everyone with a difficult past can blame their past on who they become."

"He doesn't blame his past. He's full of remorse and regret. He's a good man, who's beginning to learn from his mistakes."

"And so, we return to my original question, Isabella. You interfered with the order of things, with the way things must happen, to what end?"

I took another step toward him, then another. When I lifted my hand and gently placed it on his arm, the mist surrounding him dispelled.

I spoke softly, demurely. "Spare him. Speak to Dad." My breaths erupted in a series of uneven sighs, my breath swirling and mixing with the mist. "Allow Edward a second chance to live out his life."

Emmett looked down at me tenderly. When he smiled, it was a sincere smile – full of pity, yes, but sincere.

"You lay your hand on my arm because our touch is a gentle whisper; it persuades, sways thoughts and convinces. But this is not up to me, Bella; or up to just Dad for that matter. If it was that simple, the past half century of world-wide wars and the most recent war would've never happened."

"He's enjoyed the past half-century of war," I snorted derisively. "Both he and Jacob enjoyed all those deaths. They've kept them busy and entertained."

"Contrary to what you believe, they haven't enjoyed it," Emmett said, shaking his head. "The wars were fated, especially the second world-wide war. It's why the monster at the helm of it was allowed his rise. However," he sneered, "Dad, Jacob, and I did enjoy being there when that particular monster met his end."

"Convince Dad to speak to the elders."

"I can't. It doesn't work that way, Bella, and you know it."

Jerking my hand away, I stepped back. The mist returned and swirled gently around him.

"I won't let you take him," I gritted, taking another step further away from Emmett.

"Bella, you can't fight it. You know that," he said tiredly. "You, more than almost any being in the universe, knows that. We're here to lend Fate a hand, not to change it. You've bought him seconds, minutes, perhaps hours, but not much more than that."

"I won't let you," I breathed.

"I'm sorry, little sister. I really am."

The mist around him thickened, ebbed and flowed. When it dispelled, Emmett was gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Almost done here! AND I** _ **did**_ **say it was a Halloween story, didn't I?**

 **If anyone still isn't clear on WHAT Bella and her "family" are, she'll clear it up herself next chapter, as well as answer a few more questions about herself. :)**

 **(Hint: They're NOT vampires) ;)**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRosa**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts! I got some of you with that last update, huh? Though some of you sort of knew something was up with B. ;)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. Mistakes are mine too.**

* * *

 **In the Mist - Chapter 10**

He woke before I returned.

"Bella?"

For a few moments after Emmett's departure, I'd remained out in the rolling mist, absently watching it coil around tree trunks and shrubbery like jungle vines. Silent and still, I waited with minuscule, vain, and quickly fading hope that Emmett would reappear within the mist and grant my one desire.

"Bella?"

Instead, _he_ called my name from within the dark cabin; louder now, tinged with a note of urgency threatening to become something more. As the front door was yanked open, I hid in the shadows while Edward rushed into the nebulous mist, his pale, bare chest heaving in the darkness.

"Bella, where are you?"

He raked a hand through his hair, his other hand fisted tightly against his stomach, at-the-ready with the sharp tip of the knife he gripped vaguely glinting through the vaporous haze. Meager moonlight caught the steel and gently traced its angles the way it would follow a star's pointed edges. As I watched him holding the knife in anticipation of some outward danger, a thought struck me, startling me more for its clarity than for its novelty:

There are _so_ many ways for a man, whose time has been deemed borrowed, to die.

I waited barely long enough for his growing panic to lead him sufficiently away from the cabin. As he took a step closer to the vine-like, innocuous mist, I moved around him, hidden within that same, enigmatic mist because I knew all too well how quickly it could turn – how swiftly it could deliver thoughts, ideas…madness. He took a step closer.

"Edward?"

Edward spun around, and his stiffened broad shoulders fell. As he took me in by the door, obvious relief marked his features and a long gust of his breath mixed with the fog of night.

"Bella, Jesus…where were you?"

"I was in the bathroom, bandaging my scrapes."

His eyes narrowed, flashed down to my bandaged thigh and back to me. "I called out for you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."

For a few moments, we remained perfectly still, studying one another. My eyes fell to his right hand, still gripping the knife – the long, sharp, and glinting knife.

"Why do you have a knife?"

"I thought I heard…I…" He raked a hand through his hair.

So many ways. For example, a gangster who'd lost all his family, who'd been locked up in Alcatraz for years, and who'd escaped The Rock only to find out his girl and his one-time-best-friend-and-partner-in-crime had betrayed him; a gangster who was the object of a statewide manhunt - such a man might definitely lose all hope. Such a man's suicide would never be questioned.

As the mist encroached from the woods, I took a step toward Edward; a small, demure smile playing on my lips, gazing up at him with total, female innocence. Another step as he watched me, his intense green eyes almost glowing in the dark of night.

"Bella, get back inside," he hissed. "I thought I heard someone out here."

He'd disappear into the woods…fall off the side of a cliff...deep into the bay...

I laid a warm palm on his arm, squeezing it lightly, my touch a gentle…yet persuasive caress. Standing close, I angled my head upward.

"Give me the knife, Edward," I breathed, my breath also meant to guide…to sway as I wrapped my other hand around the one gripping the knife.

His hold on it tightened.

"No. I've got to go check-"

"There's no one out here; I promise you. There's no one around but us. You and me. Nothing and no one else. Give me the knife."

He swallowed, his breaths long and deep. The mist touched him.

"Edward, I'm cold. Let's go inside. There's nothing out here but woods…and the damp mist. Take me back inside the cabin. Please." Carefully yet firmly, I pushed my fingers through his, loosening his grip.

"Please…"

Once I gripped the knife, I dropped my other hand from his arm and weaved it within his, walking backward toward the cabin as I pulled him with me…guiding him, his eyes firmly on mine.

"I should've never brought you into this," he said, his voice rough and angry with himself.

"But you did, and I'm here now...and it's your job to take care of me."

His eyes narrowed, jaw squared tightly as I led, and he followed.

"I'll take care of you," he said hoarsely, nodding vehemently. "I'll never let anyone or anything…"

He trailed off as we crossed the threshold into the cabin, and as he kicked the door closed, I made my way to the small table and lay down the knife, exhaling imperceptibly, frowning at the gas lamp left lit on the table.

"Why is the gas lamp on?"

"In case I had to go searching the woods for you."

A gas lamp was a basic accessory – even a necessity in a cabin; a gas lamp in a wood cabin, one which could fall off the table, shatter and set the cabin ablaze in a matter of seconds.

"Switch on the lights if you'd like," I said as I lowered my head to the lamp and blew it out.

"It'll be a couple of more hours 'til the sun's out."

I nodded, keeping my back to him.

"And another hour or so 'til the radio stations are on."

"Yes. No pointing in going anywhere yet. Not until we know…" Until _I_ could figure out a way to cheat…my brother.

Edward made no reply.

When I turned around, Edward was still by the door. His back rested against the heavy frame, hands at his sides, eyes on me as I made my way back to him. He reached up and slid his arms around my waist, pulling me against him, and I placed my hands on his forearms.

"You know, when I woke up and you weren't there, for a few seconds," he grinned crookedly, "I thought you'd gotten wise and left."

I snorted. "I don't know that I appreciate the wording, but I told you, I'm here now."

"Yes, you did say that." He nodded slowly. "And you said it's my job to take care of you."

"Yes."

"Strange..." He quirked an eyebrow.

"What is?"

Yet again, he said nothing for a few seconds. Instead, he silently stroked my hips. The sensation his touch engendered in the dimly lit cabin was almost all-consuming.

"Bella, I've been thinking."

Curving my hands around his shoulders, I pulled him off the door, guiding him toward the bed at the end of the room. All the while, his hands stroked my hips.

"What have you been thinking, Edward?"

"The things you said to me at the warehouse, about…Kate…about…the women in my past."

My feet stilled halfway to the bed.

"What about them?"

For a handful of moments, he watched me silently. When he broke our gaze, he pinned his to a spot just beyond me as he spoke.

"When you're in the slammer, Bella, stuck in there with no company, no distractions, and no hope…well, what you do have a lot of is time…time to think…time to reason…time to remember. I spent a whole lot of time thinking, Bella."

"What did you think of?"

His eyes panned back to me. "I thought of the things I'd done, the things that had gotten me locked in the slammer…and the things that hadn't." He sighed. "You know, I've never cared what anyone thought about me – not since…well, not since Janey."

I cupped his cheek, encouraging him.

"All those women…I _did_ use them, and I knew it."

"Edward…"

"I was angry at them," he sneered. "I was angry that they'd _let_ me use them, that after what happened to Janey…they'd still allow themselves-"

"What happened to Janey wasn't their fault, Edward. Being female in a man's world, it's not an easy thing. We live by rules made for us, not by us, rules meant to make a man's world easier not ours. And if we try to speak out, we're called horrible names. If we break the rules, we're beaten, raped…murdered.

He swallowed thickly, cradling my face. "I don't ever want anyone to hurt you."

"Don't worry; no one can." It was honest, more or less.

"And that includes me."

"You won't hurt me, Edward."

He wrapped his hands around the nape of my neck. "You said it took a man willing to see beyond himself to understand what a woman wants."

"Yes," I breathed, "it does."

"I want to see beyond myself, Bella, but I want to know…I _need_ to know what you want. Tell me here and now…" he gritted through his teeth, his grip tightening – but not painfully; rather, with all the urgency spelled out in his heated gaze, "tell me _everything_. _Why_ are you here with me?" he asked in a rush. "Why did you leave with me? What were you searching for?" He paused. "What did you want from me?"

Fisting his hair, I pulled his mouth closer to mine and breathed into him.

"I wanted your _soul_."

Perhaps, before what happened next, had I been honest about what that originally meant.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Almost done. ;)**

 **Chapter Song Rec: Iris - Cover version, by Kina Grannis (Or…from Bella to Edward ;) ).**

 _ **And I'd give up forever to touch you  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now**_

 _ **And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
And sooner or later it's over  
I just don't wanna miss you tonight**_

 _ **And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's meant to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am**_

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **"See" you soon. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your wonderful thoughts. I'm trying to catch up on reviews, but it's going very slowly. RL is pretty hectic right now, full of good things and not so good things. Writing this story is somewhat of a temporary escape for me, which is why the chapters are so short. Anyway, I hate giving chapter estimates, because I'm always embarrassingly off the mark, but, at least intention-wise, I can honestly claim we're almost done. ;)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest are mine. All mistakes are mine too.**

* * *

 **In the Mist – Chapter 11**

" _Sometimes, words are superfluous."_

 _I try to teach Alice this all-important lesson the way it was once taught to me by our brothers. Sometimes, words are hazardous._

' _Why is this happening? Where will I go? Will it hurt? Who will be there with me?'_

 _All superfluous questions. What are disguised as inquiries are sometimes no more than delay tactics, an attempt at reprieve, a failure to accept the end of their time on this temporary plane. Either way, they'll have all their answers soon enough. Your job is only to claim them. Everything else is superfluous, a deferral to the inevitable, and a drawn-out conversation only serves to weaken your resolve._

 _Basically, you don't allow a connection between yourself and the soul you're about to claim, for while they may get their answers early, it only leads to further pain for yourself._

 _I should know._

OOOOO

 **1959**

The first time we had sex, it all happened quickly.

Mouths crushed together, my face cradled between his strong hands, and my hands gripping his nape, we stumbled to the small, rumpled bed in the corner of the dimly lit cabin. He breathed soft words into my mouth, a reply to my confession – a confession that in his state, he'd clearly misinterpreted.

"You can have any part of me you want, Bella. Any part."

"I want _all_ of you, Edward."

The superfluity of words in all its glory.

He groaned against my lips. The back of my legs hit the edge of the bed and folded, and his weight pushed me the rest of the way. When he cupped my breasts, my back arched, his mouth on my neck, voice almost a pained whisper.

"I want you so badly, but I can't…" – against my mouth – "I need to know you really want this," – in my ear – "that you want me."

"I do."

He pushed my dress over my hips and ground himself against me, heavy breaths on the swells cresting over my bustline, hands molding, thumbs teasing.

"Edward, kiss them."

He pulled down the bodice and took a soft mound in his warm mouth, and I sighed, closing my eyes.

"Now, take me."

A zipper swiftly pulled. "Bella, first I need you to know-"

"I do know."

A second of pause, then he pushed down his pants, slid his hand under my dress and tugged off the last gauzy item between us.

"If I get a baby in you, I'll take care-"

"You won't get a baby in me."

Another second of pause before his leg pushed between mine, hard tip pressed at the entrance.

"I want you to know-"

"I do know." Eyes closed, I waited. "I do. Just fill me."

Edward stilled.

"Bella, look at me. Look at me."

He waited for my eyes to flutter open, for me to look at him. The soft smile he wore was completely in contrast to what I expected. My brow furrowed, and like his smile, when he spoke, the words were surprising…and quixotically tender.

"Keep your eyes on me."

I nodded, brow furrowing deeper and mouth opening wordlessly as he languidly pushed himself inside. A sharp hiss escaped him.

"Don't close your eyes, don't look away."

I managed another erratic, wordless nod; an audible hitch of breath as he filled me.

On the other hand, Edward's groans were loud and rough. His intense gaze pinned me as he pulled out and thrust back in. I cried out, ground my hips with his, and wrapped my legs around his waist. All the while, our eyes remained locked on one another, and yes; yes, words were superfluous.

"Bella…I want you to know…"

I cupped his cheek, my words of reassurance shaky, with a quivery quality to which I was unaccustomed. Unable to pull my eyes away from his demanding gaze, I lay open for him in a way I'd never laid open…in a manner which I'd never imagined possible for me.

"I do know, Edward; I do, and I…I'm…"

I had no opportunity for completion – of either my ill-timed attempt at confession or my orgasm. It was all very quick; Edward thrust a handful of times before stilling and heavily collapsing on top of me.

His breaths were long and shallow, damp forehead on my chest, soft kisses as he panted apologies.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just been so long, and you're so…I'm sorry."

He must've taken my silence for dissatisfaction. Pulling out of me, he rested lightly on my hip, remaining cradled between my legs.

"I was just…thinking," I said, playing with his hair.

He chuckled hoarsely. "After my sad performance, I'm almost afraid to ask what."

"When you orgasmed, I was in the middle of a realization."

Edward looked up and met my eyes. His cheeks were ruddy from exertion, hair disheveled…green eyes almost glowing.

"What realization?" he breathed.

"Sex can be immeasurably intimate, even…satisfying in a primal manner, in spite of a lack of orgasm."

For a few moments, he said nothing as his eyes held mine, Adam's apple bobbing.

"I always knew…I know what you mean," he finally whispered. Then, his mouth curved into a smug grin. "Even though _I_ did come."

"How long before we can do that again?"

Edward's eyes grew wide, and his head jerked back slightly before he chuckled. "I don't think I'll need much time."

He took my hand and wrapped it around himself, and I felt the truth of it as he dipped his mouth to mine. His kisses were reverently tender, then grew in urgency, almost frantic again when I pushed him away so that I could remove all my clothing. As the last item fell, his eyes remained on mine. And as I readied him with my hand, he pushed a finger inside me, taking me to the brink before guiding me astride him.

I rode him hard, but he lasted much longer. All the while, our eyes remained locked, even as I did reach the pinnacle, and we orgasmed together.

Afterward, I laid atop him with my head on his chest as he languidly played with my hair.

"You should've slept."

"The regrets come now?"

He chuckled impishly. "No. Definitely no regrets, but we'll have to leave soon; as soon as the stations come on, and we can try to piece together how much the cops know; where the G-men are looking, what Garrett's told them," – he exhaled – "and based on all that, where we should-"

I didn't want to think of what waited in the world out there, of cops, FBI, Garrett, and worst of all…the mist. Not yet. For a few more precious minutes, I wanted a reprieve – for Edward…and for me.

"Edward, was it how you remembered it?" I lifted my head and looked at him. "The sex, I mean."

He snorted. "Sometimes, you're just so damn blunt it's disconcerting. But to answer you, it was better," he said with a grin.

"Better? Did you always picture Kate when you thought of sex while you were in there? In Alcatraz?"

The grin faded, and as he drew in a deep breath, his chest rose and fell, and I rose and fell with it.

"At first, I pictured her, yes, Bella. Like I said, in my moments of loneliness, I turned our relationship into more than it was. But I didn't only imagine her." He smiled sheepishly. "There was Grace Kelly, Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn Monroe."

"You like the blondes," I pointed out teasingly.

"There were a few brunette actresses in there too."

"You were a busy man in your imagination."

He laughed harder, almost carefree. "I suppose I was. I suppose that's one good thing about being locked up – you've got plenty of time in which to indulge your imagination." The laughter evaporated. "Even though what I was actually trying to do…"

"What were you trying to do?" I asked when he didn't complete his thought.

For a long while, he said nothing.

"Are you ever going to tell me, Bella?"

My heart lurched. "Tell you what?" I finally breathed.

His nostrils flared. When he nodded, it seemed an action more for himself than for me.

"Let _me_ tell you, then. Let me tell you a bit about the night Janey was murdered."

I swallowed. "All right."

His eyes panned away from me, to a spot in the dimness of the cabin where his mind replayed a gruesome scene, which brought back all the bitterness in his voice I hadn't heard since before we arrived at the cabin.

"I didn't make it to her on time. I found out too late what she was going to do, how she planned to _help_ because I couldn't make ends meet at that goddamned fishing wharf. Because she was hungry, wearing rags, and cold every night."

"Edward, it wasn't-"

"He was gone by the time I got there, left her beaten, and…and as I stood at the threshold…she didn't see me."

"Edward…" I said, choking on the rest, and hanging my head because of it.

"Neither one of them saw me." He spoke the words slowly; meaningfully.

With a gasp, my eyes shot up to him, but Edward's eyes were glazed, trained away from me and still in the past.

"She wasn't alone. There was a woman there with her, a beautiful woman sitting next to her on the bed, holding her hand, whispering in her ear…making her smile one last time. She had raven hair and raven eyes, and ivory skin so pale, it rivaled the mist that clung to Janey's window…"

I closed my eyes against tears which never really fell.

"Those first few years at The Rock, it was her face I tried not to imagine, her eyes I tried to hide from whenever I pictured those other women. But sometimes…some nights…in my imagination, I'd see her anyway, watching me through those dark eyes…"

"Edward-"

He spoke quickly now. "Then, one night, I escaped; swam over a mile against treacherous currents and swore I felt fucking sharks and hands and all sorts of creatures reaching for me the entire way. And when I surfaced…she was there."

I held my breath.

"She was there when Janey died, holding my sister's hand." He paused and met my eyes. "And she's been by my side all night."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **So…some of you have figured out some stuff. Some are still wondering a bit. Don't worry; there's usually a method to my madness, and you'll figure it all out. (I think). :)**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **Chapter Song Rec: Uninvited by Alanis Morissette**

 _ **Like anyone would be  
I am flattered by your fascination with me  
Like any hot-blooded woman  
I have simply wanted an object to crave**_

 _ **But you, you're not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight**_

 _ **Must be strangely exciting  
To watch the stoic squirm  
Must be somewhat heartening  
To watch shepard meet shepard**_

 _ **But you, you're not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight**_

 _ **Like any uncharted territory  
I must seem greatly intriguing  
You speak of my love like  
You have experienced love like mine before  
But this is not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight**_

 _ **I don't think you unworthy  
I need a moment to deliberate.**_

" **See" you soon.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine too.**

 **I'm thinking 2 to 3 more chapters. ;)**

* * *

 **In the Mist – Chapter 12**

I sat up on the bed, between Edward's long legs.

Bewildered, I pulled the quilt and held it tightly against my chest, like Eve hiding after her fall from grace. Later on, I'd realize it was an instinctual reaction, much like fight or flight; only, it was a reaction I'd never before experienced – an attempt to hide, to _truly_ hide. All the while, Edward's enigmatic gaze held mine. Somewhere along the way, Edward and I had reversed roles, and _he_ was the one able to see what lay before _me_.

So, I held the blanket as if it were some sort of magical talisman – Aladdin's Carpet or Dorothy's Ruby Red Slippers – capable of transporting me from a world which wasn't mine to a land beyond. Only, I knew too well there were no such things as magic carpets or ruby red slippers. There was only those of us tasked with a task as old as time.

Nonetheless, I made no sound, no further attempt to move. In turn, Edward bent his arms at the elbows and cradled his head over the lone pillow on the minuscule bed. He lay naked before me, and he was completely relaxed at being so. His gaze slid away from me once more and trailed up to the cabin's beamed ceiling.

"At first, when I saw Michael hit _you_ , I thought maybe I'd drowned, and I was in heaven or hell; had to be hell, because he _hit_ you. But, then again, it was _you_ , so it couldn't be hell. On the other hand," he frowned at the ceiling, "what the hell was _I_ doing in heaven?" He emitted a humorless chuckle. "As you might be able to tell, I was more than a bit disoriented after completing a mile-long swim in freezing waters."

"Edward-" I said, though what else I meant to say I'm still not sure. Either way, I had no opportunity to finish because Edward's train of thought took off. His words were strung together almost without pause, as if they'd been trickling for so long the trickle became a deluge.

"So, I figured I couldn't be dead yet. I had to be in the throes of hallucinations brought on by impending death; more likely, I'd been shot by the Coast Guard or eaten by sharks or mangled by bedrock at the bottom of those black waters. That made more sense," he said with a cryptic nod, "especially since I'd convinced myself years earlier that you'd never been real, that I'd dreamed you up and only imagined someone in that room with Janey, holding her hand, comforting her. Yeah, that's all you were," – another nod – "a vaporous dream; nebula, like the mist that clung to her window that night. You were nothing more than a beautiful, imagined siren come to ease my guilt for letting Janey die alone." His voice broke on the last few words.

"Edward, it wasn't your fault."

When I reached for his cheek, meaning to offer him comfort by _helping_ him believe my words, his hand quickly shot out from under his head, and he caught my hand before it made contact. Then, slowly, eyes still on the ceiling, he guided my hand down to the space between us.

"Don't touch me, Bella," he hissed, frowning darkly. "I know what your touch does."

Unfathomable pain lanced through me at the bitterness in his tone. Yet, in an instant, remorse filled his every feature. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments. "Damn it."

"I'm sorry," I whispered shakily. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know what you meant to do." He reopened his eyes. "There's something in your touch that clouds my thoughts, that soothes me…and I don't _want_ to be soothed," he stressed, nostrils flaring, "not right now. I need to get this straight."

I swallowed hard and merely replied with a nod, returning to gripping the blanket.

"That's why I rarely let myself think of you those first few years after Janey's death. I didn't _want_ my guilt eased. I didn't deserve to have it eased. So, I banished your raven hair and your raven eyes from my mind. But at night, alone in my cell, I saw you." His voice fell to barely a breath. "Every single damn night, you were there…in my dreams."

"I didn't-"

He sat up and met my gaze so swiftly, his eyes full of so much fire, that the rest of my words cut off in my throat.

"Even after I killed Michael," he spat, "I kept lying to myself. Yeah, you looked like her, like the woman I'd imagined with Janey, but after over _five years_ in the slammer, even more than that of seeing you in my dreams nightly, every goddamn woman I crossed was going to look like you, right?" He snorted, paused, swallowed, and fisted his hands tightly at his sides. "Despite my attempts, Bella, despite my attempts to never even think of you…I fell in love with you."

"Edward," I breathed, "you didn't fall in love with me. You fell in love with a dream."

"That's why I tried to push you away at the pier because whoever you were, you weren't _her_. _She_ didn't exist. But you," he said through gritted teeth, "this almost impossibly beautiful woman with a swollen cheek from where her lover struck her, stubbornly refused to leave my side."

Again, he paused, tilted his head sideways…studied my cheek.

"His knuckles left an imprint on your face. Did you know that?"

I made no reply. Instead, when he reached up and cupped my cheek, firmly yet tenderly, my breath hitched.

"This entire side of your beautiful face swelled, and I knew it was going to bruise badly. When you're hit that hard, capillaries pop underneath the skin. It goes from black to blue to purple before the entire mess finally fades days if not weeks later." His thumb gently stroked my cheek, back and forth, his eyes following the movement of his finger. "But by the time we reached the warehouse, your face was perfectly smooth, unblemished." His hand fell away. "It was intact as if nothing had ever happened."

"Edward-"

"Then, at the warehouse, you…you…Jesus."

Raking a hand through his hair, he dropped his gaze and shook his head. When he looked back up and resumed, his words didn't quite match his initial expression.

"At the warehouse, in that bathroom, you were hit by plaster. It cut you right here." He traced a finger horizontally just under my eye, on the other side of my face, then across my forehead. "And right here."

His eyes met mine. "Where are those cuts, Bella?"

"They were barely-"

He yanked away my blanket, my talisman, so swiftly I had no time to react – had I meant to react at all. His eyes, however, never left mine as he stripped off my bandage. For an eternal moment, he simply held me locked in the depths of his sharp gaze. Yet for all his evenness of expression, when he spoke, his voice shook.

"You were shot, Bella. I saw the bullet hit you, and I saw your body hit the wall. And all I could think about was how I allowed the two most important women in my life to be hurt."

"You're wrong."

He quirked an eyebrow. "About what exactly?"

Again, I couldn't reply.

He snorted at my silence. "By the time we made it to the car, they were nothing more than gashes, and then merely scrapes by the time I cleaned you up. And now…now…" He swallowed.

"Now, they're gone," I finished for him.

He nodded slowly, knelt naked before me.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Bella."

He cupped my face, searched my eyes. "Perhaps I should ask… _what_ are you?"

"Does it really matter, Edward?"

For a long while, he made no reply. His hands skimmed to the nape of my neck, gripping it, and I could've spoken then, filled the silence because he _saw_ me, the _real_ me. Yet…he couldn't fathom what the real me truly was. How could he? I was nebula according to him, a beautiful siren, whose touch and skin was as gauzy as the mist surrounding the cabin. I could see it in his eyes: he believed me to be someone sent to soothe his soul – and I was too much of a coward to speak the truth.

After a series of uneven sighs, he smiled.

"You're a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"A sign of a second chance, of an opportunity to get it right."

"What would you do differently, with a second chance, Edward?"

He inhaled and exhaled, the warmth of his breath washing over me. "I would live a life worthy of you." His brow furrowed from the intensity of his words. "If you allowed me…if you stayed with me, I'd take you away from here, and I would be a _good_ man for you."

Such a beautiful dream, one I'd never allowed myself because it wasn't allowed, and I wasn't a rule breaker – not usually.

Yet, at that moment, as his emerald gaze held my black gaze, I saw it: Edward and I far away together, on a warm island where palm trees swayed and Michael's stolen money supported us. _They_ wouldn't bother us because he _saw_ me, and because he regretted, and because he _felt_ remorse. We could live out his life in this realm…and then…he could join me on mine.

It wasn't too much to ask.

Slowly, carefully, Edward pushed my back against the mattress, hovering above me, searching my eyes, waiting for me.

"Will you stay with me, Bella?"

At that moment, I had no idea who was there to lead who, whose touch was the one which swayed. At that moment, warm and safe in our dark cabin, surrounded by a mist who dared not enter and brave my wrath, I allowed myself to see _everything_ he saw. I allowed Edward's warm life to be my guide.

I pulled him down, led him between my legs, and into my body. I arched against him and made us one. Not with sex; no. I made love to him.

I joined our fates.

"Yes, Edward. Yes, I'll stay with you."

* * *

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	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts! We're almost done. :)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **In the Mist - Chapter 13**

Afterward, we spoke of insignificant things, which made the conversation all the more significant. For that short while, there were no more questions about what, exactly, I was, nor were there concerns about police or Garrett or what would happen to us in the next few hours. There was only Edward and Bella, two lovers in one another's bare embrace, arms and legs tangled within a small bed in a small cabin, talking, touching, exploring…and for a few, glorious moments, dreaming incandescently happy dreams.

"What kind of house do you want to live in?"

I shrugged, smiling against his chest. "I don't know. It doesn't really matter to me."

He snorted and kissed my head. "Well, I guess the size depends on whether we'll have kids?"

"We can't." I looked up and met his gaze. "I'm sorry."

He pushed my hair behind my ear. "You're already more than I ever dared dream of." Then, he grinned. "I suppose we can live on a boat."

"Or in an RV?"

"Or even just a cardboard tent," he said, pulling me up for a kiss.

Eventually and unavoidably, a new day dawned. Weakened by the canopy of thick forestry which cocooned the cabin from the world, hints of daybreak's approach slivered through the shuttered blinds, sending the dusky room aglow with dust motes dancing like minuscule fairies. Edward brushed his lips to the tip of my nose and ended our reprieve.

"Go get cleaned up. I'll turn on the radio and hear what they're saying."

We were back to pretending again, or perhaps, we'd never stopped pretending after all. If he'd noted everything else about me, he'd noted I didn't require clean-up; at least, nothing beyond brushing the tangles he'd created out of my hair and changing into something other than last evening's destroyed taffeta dress. Everything else was merely for show.

Nonetheless, I sat up at the very edge of the tiny bed, and then I dropped to my knees over the wooden floor, where I pulled out a small suitcase kept under the bed. Edward leaned over the side to study me. My eyes flashed up to his, curious at the smirk he wore.

"What?" I asked.

"You sure as hell kept Michael's cabin well-stocked."

"It's actually my cabin, not Michael's."

Retrieving a pair of black cigarette pants and a black sweater, I kept my focus on the clothing as I continued.

"Michael knew nothing about this cabin, even though money from the accounts he had me set up for him in the Caribbean paid for it. I saw the place once as I wandered around the Muir Woods, and I liked it for the seclusion it provided in a world where seclusion is becoming harder to come by. So, I forged his signature on all the required documents. Had I planned on falling in love with you, I would've stocked it with a change of clothing for you as well."

I shrugged, well aware it was the first time I'd admitted to Edward that I loved him. When I looked up again, his expression was enigmatic.

"So many questions," he murmured more to himself, "but, they can wait. Go," he said more steadfastly. "Get ready."

As I stood and headed for the bathroom, I looked back and took him in over my shoulder, finding his gaze still on me. "Edward, don't go outside without me. Stay in the cabin."

He inhaled and exhaled, and then merely nodded, foregoing all the questions which danced on the tip of his tongue.

OOOOO

' _We repeat this urgent public announcement: San Franciscans are waking up this morning to frightening news, indeed. Escaped convict, Edward Cullen, is still within our midst! Cullen, locked up on Alcatraz Island for the past five years, escaped his cell and the island last evening – a double feat previously believed nearly impossible – thereby instigating a massive manhunt by various law enforcement authorities including FBI, Coast Guard, and California Highway Patrol. Whether or not Cullen managed to survive the one and a quarter mile swim from The Rock to San Francisco Bay was still under question until late last night. However, as of this morning, authorities are one hundred percent certain that Edward Cullen is very much alive and at large!_

 _A body discovered in the bay last evening and examined by Alcatraz's Warden Blackwell has been found not to be Cullen's! Even more damning, the still unidentified gentleman appears to have been the victim of foul play, leading authorities to fear he was indeed the first victim of Cullen's escapade! Lastly – and perhaps most frighteningly, my fellow San Franciscans – is the news reported this morning of a shoot-out at a suspected gangster hide-out in 'Frisco's seedy Barbary Coast. The shoot-out, which resulted in multiple casualties, is suspected to have been initiated by none other than Cullen himself!_

 _Cullen escaped the scene, and San Francisco authorities have now announced a reward to anyone providing information leading to his arrest and capture! Ladies and gentlemen, until Edward Cullen is apprehended, the city by the bay is under siege!'_

Edward shut off the radio.

He'd redonned the previous evening's clothing given to him by Garrett. Wrinkled and stained, for now, it was his only option. In the relative silence of the early morning, it was easy to hear Edward's deep breaths. With the window blinds open, light filtered in and brightened the room. It appeared as if it would be a rare, sunny, fall day, without a hint of morning mist.

With his back to me, I watched Edward's shoulders rise and fall on a prolonged breath before apparently sensing me behind him. He turned with a grin already on his handsome face. When I walked over to him, he slid his arms around my waist.

"At least we know what they know," I said.

"At least there's no mention of you."

"There won't be any mention of me."

Edward scrutinized me silently and sighed. "Bella, I know you mentioned the Caribbean and Michael's off-shore accounts as a way for us to start over, but I don't want to start on the wrong foot with you. I don't want to profit off a man I killed, even if he was an asshole."

I searched his eyes. "Then, what do you suggest?"

Edward cupped my cheek. "I was thinking…perhaps we could head further north, up through Washington and see if we can cross into Alaska."

"Alaska?"

He nodded. "They say it's the last frontier since it's only been a state for a few months. I've heard it's the wild west all over again up there, except colder. They also say there are all sorts of opportunities for a man who's willing to put in an honest day of work."

I arched an eyebrow. "Edward, you'd start over with nothing?"

"I wouldn't have nothing, Bella; I'd have _you_ , and as I said, you're more than I ever dared hope for. So, what do you think?"

When I failed to reply, he dipped his head closer, mouth hovering a couple of inches from mine.

"You mentioned you liked seclusion, and you can't get much more secluded than the Alaskan wild." His brow furrowed at my continued silence. "Bella, I won't let anything hurt you. I mean, I know you don't get…hurt the way most do, but I'll take care of you if that's what you're worried about."

When a long moment transpired, and still, I said nothing, Edward's furrowed brow morphed into a deep-set frown.

"Bella-"

"Edward, I know you have questions about me. I can't fly; I go where I must on my two legs. I can't move things with my mind; I have to physically reach for them. My skin isn't impervious, yet it heals. I don't shoot laser beams from my eyes," – slowly, I reached up and laid a hand over his chest, "but my touch…it persuades. Time isn't equally linear for me nor does it proceed in exactly the same way it does for you; but I feel its passage. My _kind_ ," I said carefully, "we're not meant for strong, emotional response. This is new to me, and I will tell you everything, but for now, I need you to know I'm not some sort of-"

"Will you go to Alaska with me?"

"Edward-"

"Will you?"

"Yes. Yes, I've already decided I'll go anywhere with you."

He grinned, brushing his lips against my forehead before resting his on it.

"It'll be great, you'll see. And it'll be easier to remain inconspicuous in a place like Alaska."

Oh, I wasn't naïve enough to think _they_ wouldn't know my whereabouts, regardless of the new State's rumored wilderness. Neither was I simple enough to think I could keep the truth from Edward indefinitely. But…perhaps…if we were someplace where we'd rarely come in contact with others…where it was just he and I...perhaps it would be enough to satisfy everyone.

OOOOO

We packed everything in the cabin which might be useful on the road; crackers and chili for Edward – the fact that I didn't need food was yet something else I'd have to explain – the portable gas lamp, the long knife. When we opened the front door, the sun cast its rays into the cabin like a beacon. Birds chirped their morning songs. Insects buzzed excitedly. The pungent scent of damp moss wafted in the soft breeze. It was a beautiful day, the sort of day made for those who dreamed of the promise of a new future. It was a day without mist.

Nevertheless, before stepping outdoors, Edward and I both gave the perimeter a hasty scan; though, each of us searched for different dangers. Yet, except for the breeze and the forest creatures, the area was completely sound.

"Come on."

Carrying our lone bag in one hand, and holding my hand in his other, Edward jerked his jaw toward Michael's car, parked a few yards away. We'd have to ditch the vehicle soon, once Michael's identity was discovered. But, for now, it would start us north.

Edward stepped over the threshold, and I took a step forward with him before sucking my teeth.

"Hold on," I said, slipping my hand out of his. "I forgot something."

"All right; I'll get this in the car. Don't take too long."

Perhaps, had I pulled him with me, or reached out and touched him and persuaded him to wait. But, the bed where Edward and I spent a few short hours of bliss was only a few feet away. I was there in mere seconds; in even less time, I pulled up the quilted blanket on which we'd repeatedly made love. I smiled to myself for a moment as I felt its leftover warmth between my fingers. I felt buoyant for a fraction of an instant.

It was the absolute silence which struck me first – the absence of the birds' songs, insects no longer buzzing, a breeze no longer blowing. Through the window…a gauzy mist coiled in between the massive tree trunks just a few yards away.

Gasping sharply, I dropped the quilt and spun around.

Emmett stood at the threshold, surrounded by the hazy clouds, his fedora held loosely against his chest.

"Edward!" I lurched forward, but Emmett grabbed my arm.

"Bella, wait. _Wait_."

"What did you do to him?" I demanded wildly.

"He's fine, Bella; I promise you. See for yourself."

With my vision tunneled by fear, my eyes scanned the open doorway, from where I saw Edward still walking toward the car, still safe. Nevertheless, Time was not the same for us, and Emmet's reappearance obliterated all my blind pretense. It woke me up. Ironically, it cleared the haze around my mind and blighted all the fuzzy dreams I'd dared entertain; dreams of a simple future.

Honestly, I should've known better. Still, I begged.

"Please tell me you spoke to Dad and the elders."

Emmett's stony yet grim expression was all the reply I needed.

"No," I choked, attempting to pull away from his grip. "No."

"Isabella, the decision on Edward was made long ago."

"No," I repeated the word stubbornly, defiantly. "I'm leaving with him."

Emmett sighed. "You know very well you can't. Isabella, Dad and I have indulged your pretenses in the past – your whims about attending universities and furthering women's rights, but you are _not_ of this realm. You've been living an impossible dream since yesterday evening."

"No."

Nausea coiled in my stomach – a human reaction heretofore foreign to me. All the while, I watched Edward through the open door, still making his way toward the car.

"So you'll doom him to the Mist because I'm not of this realm?"

"it's more than that, and you know it. It's against the rules, and-"

"The hell with the _fucking_ rules," I seethed. "I've always followed the rules, and where has it gotten me?"

"It's your _fucking_ rule-breaking which got you here," Emmett retorted heatedly now. "Damn it, Isabella, you weren't supposed to comfort her! Comfort is not our job, and it's not because we're cruel or unfeeling, but because _this_ is what results." He spread his arms wide. "You make connections. You comforted the girl, and when it came time to claim the brother, you couldn't."

Edward reached the car.

"Yes, I comforted Janey, and I don't regret it in the slightest," I countered, "but that's not why I fell in love with Edward. I fell in love with him because he has a _good_ soul, because he was a good brother, and-"

"If one good quality negated everything else, The Mist would be empty."

I shifted strategies. "Allow me to speak to Dad. Tell him I want to see him. Tell him I'm ready to-"

"Decades you've stayed away from him," Emmett said, "judging him for wars which were beyond his control, and _now_ , you want to speak with him? Do you honestly think he won't see through you?" When I flinched, he shook his head and spoke softly again. "Bella, we're not soothers and we're not judges. We don't offer comfort, and we don't decide who goes or who receives a reprieve."

"But Rosalie-"

"You compare the situation to that with my wife, but you know it's not the same. Isabella, even before your actions in that warehouse, Edward's fate was sealed.

I hung my head, feeling my chest constrict. "Emmett, please."

My brother's voice dropped to a gentle, soothing…persuasive whisper. His grip relaxed, more comforting than restraining.

"Sister, set aside this capriciousness, and come away with me. You'll be allowed to go anywhere in the world, further your education all the more, increase your knowledge, assist women in all their plights. Alice has matured and is ready to join you. You no longer need to be alone. You and she can make a real difference in this world. _This_ …is pointless. Now, let's go."

Slowly, I looked up and met his eyes – eyes which were as black as mine. He offered me a gentle, brotherly smile. He stroked my arm, murmured tenderly.

"Let's go, Bella."

His voice was a foghorn in the distance, the lamp of a lighthouse guiding me away from the rocky coastline, leading me home…or...away from home.

I yanked my arm away from him. "I trusted you!"

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

" _Why_ are you here?"

"You know why I'm here."

This time, when I ran past him, he made no attempt to stop me.

"Bella, you can't outrun this."

I ran out of the cabin and into the darkening forest.

"Edward!"

Edward's eyes shot up, wild and horrified by the terror in my voice, believing _me_ the one in danger. I watched his mouth move around my name as his sharpened gaze scanned the perimeter. When he found nothing, he frowned in bewilderment. Behind him, the Mist rolled, coiled…and reached out like a gauzy hand.

"Edward, don't let the Mist touch you!"

The words tore through me as I sprang forward. I choked on a dry sob as I reached for and yanked him away from the mist's treacherous hold.

"Bella, what-?"

He cut off. His gaze moved past me as he stopped and listened. I heard it as well, the sirens whirring in the distance; approaching fast.

"Fuck," Edward spat. He cradled my face and dipped his eyes to mine, his gaze and his voice now hard and focused. "All right, Bella; get in the car."

"Edward, I-"

"Get in the car, Bella!"

Yanking the passenger door open, Edward threw in our bag, then reached for me and pushed me in. He slammed the door and rounded the car in a handful of seconds. Jumping into the driver's seat, he revved the engine and shifted gears.

"Hold on, baby, okay? This might get rough."

Tires screeched. We took off, attempting to outrun…

Attempting to outrun that which couldn't be outrun.

* * *

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	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts. I apologize if I haven't gotten back to your review yet. I'm trying to get to them in between writing!**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest are mine. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **In the Mist - Chapter 14**

 _I see us on the small bed in the corner of the cabin, what I consider_ _ **our**_ _bed despite the fact that his legs were too long for it, and his feet hung off the bottom if he stretched. But it kept us snug, kept our bodies molded, limbs tangled, spine to chest or chest to chest, my head on top of his quickly-beating heart, his mouth softly brushing the nape of my neck. I see us making love – sometimes his thrusts are urgently frenzied, sometimes they're purposely languid; sometimes I undulate over him like a gentle wave, sometimes I move like a furious storm. My hands get lost in his hair; his mouth puckers around my breasts._

 _I hear us – sighs, groans, cries of ecstasy…or just laughter and bits of foolish dreams and conversation._

' _Edward, I couldn't make myself leave you…I'll go anywhere with you….'_

' _You can have any part of me…you're my second chance to get things right…stay with me, Bella…'_

 _All the while, in a room backlit by streaming moonlight, our love keeps the mist at bay. And, in between visions of all the things I'd never change, I replay those I should've._

OOOOO

 **1959**

The first police cruisers spotted us just a mile or so from the cabin, as we left behind the hidden dirt roads and carefully rejoined civilization by way of the paved roadway leading out of the woods. About a half mile from the cabin, the sirens suddenly went silent, which provided us with no relief whatsoever. We weren't stupid; merely desperate. Edward reached over and squeezed my hand, holding it within his for a few seconds, his gaze focused on the road, jaw squared tightly.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

He nodded and with one more squeeze, released me, grabbing the steering wheel in both hands.

We took the road north, still stupidly pretending we'd head upward out of the state, cross two other states – an escaped criminal on the run and me – and reach our arctic and remotely vast corner of Eden, safe and sound and no worse for the wear.

The cruisers were concealed behind the forest's thick shrubbery. Lights flashed and sirens whirred as they lurched out of their hiding spots and formed an impassible, V-shaped barrier just ahead, right in front of the mist rolling in.

"Fuck," Edward spat.

"Turn around, Edward."

He hit the gas pedal, and hand over hand, he spun around the car in a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc.

"Are you all right?" he asked again.

The mist now reached and blanketed the cruisers.

"I'm fine, Edward. Just go."

More marked and unmarked vehicles emerged from the thicket, attempting to cut off our new direction. A few only narrowly missed us as our tires screeched and squeezed in between them.

"Hold on, baby, okay?"

His chest heaved as he sped us down the two-lane road leading out of the woods – lights, sirens, and mist giving chase. We swerved around cars and bewildered motorists honking horns and joining in the melee. Our eyes frenziedly scanned the forested perimeter – Edward searching out more hidden police cars while I searched out the no-longer subtle mist. Abruptly, woods gave way to a curved, cliff road overlooking the bay.

The car hugged the cliff.

"Edward turn the wheel. Turn the wheel!"

Tires screeched like nails against a blackboard as Edward struggled to control the steering wheel. My gaze dropped to the cliff below, where rocks and dirt tumbled like weeds into the bay.

 _So_ many ways for a man on borrowed time to die.

When I looked up and into the horizon, for a split-second, I couldn't help marveling at the beauty of the city by the bay, in all its misty glory. And far in the distance was the rocky, prison island.

As Edward brought the wheels under control and hit the gas once more, his eyes scanned the rearview mirror.

"The cliff 'll slow 'em down. If we can stay ahead enough, we might be able to lose them past the bridge…" He trailed off, eyes focused on the road; unable to focus beyond that.

I turned and looked over my shoulder. The vehicles giving chase were indeed delayed by the treacherous cliff, spinning their wheels, a few losing traction, out of control and narrowly missing a rocky death.

The mist had no such plans for _them_. Neither did it suffer any setbacks. It rolled in like a billowing cloud, concealing San Francisco across the bay, blanketing everything behind us.

"Go, Edward," I breathed. "Go."

He pushed the gas pedal to the floor, engine roaring. The woods gave way again, to urban roads and communities built on the eastern slopes of Mount Tam. Edward ran a red light, narrowly avoiding a collision and leaving one behind us as we sped through Mill Valley's communities and finally onto the freeway. Blending into moving traffic, we both looked behind us.

"They haven't caught up," Edward said, his tone tinged with relieved surprise.

The skies above us were full of clouds, grey and gauzy, like the sky before a storm. But the mist…the mist behind us was gone. For one moment, our eyes met. Edward offered me a tremulous grin before turning back to the road.

"I think we can make it."

As we sped through the freeway cutting through Sausalito, I allowed myself to hope again. Perhaps…perhaps we could outrun the authorities; blend into traffic here and in San Francisco. Ditch the car and find another one. Make our way into the Alaskan wilderness where they'd never find us. And perhaps…perhaps Emmett and my father would allow us to fade into the background with the wilderness after all.

"Maybe," I whispered.

He reached over and squeezed my hand.

"I think we're going to make it, Bella."

For a few miles, we hugged the shore to our left and rich, verdant hills to our right, with an occasional sprinkling of urban life. Edward lifted our joined hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.

"We lost them, Bella. I think we're going to make it."

He eased up on the gas, enough so that we kept up with the rest of the traffic, with the trolleys heading toward the bridge, full of morning commuters. The shore opened into the magnificent, sapphire bay, and there was the Golden Gate. She emerged as a beacon, the sun's rays heralding her and shining off her scarlet steel like a bejeweled crown. The freeway curved toward her, leading us closer and closer.

Edward drew in a series of uneven sighs, giving me a sidelong glance and a smile.

"We're going to be okay."

I nodded, inhaled and exhaled as I looked behind us, found and felt sunshine on our backs.

The freeway narrowed, and the guardrails took on a scarlet hue made to match the Golden Gate's steel. As we made our way onto the ramp, I allowed myself a smile. It only lasted for a few moments.

In the distance…ahead of us, traffic slowed as rubberneckers watched the oncoming caravan of police cruisers on the opposite side of the bridge.

A sound between a gasp and a strangled whimper escaped me.

As I turned and looked behind me yet again, red and blue lights swirled in the distance, sirens blared…and the mist followed. With a cry of fury, I spun around and found the bay's mist – unsurprisingly to all who traversed the bridge on a regular basis – rolling in from all sides, ready to swathe the entire expanse. Just a morning mist.

Edward brought the car to a halting stop.

For an immeasurable moment, we sat there. Edward gripped the steering wheel and hung his head. I…considered touching him, persuading him to keep driving, refusing to stop even if…even _when_ the guns came out. However, when the unmarked car neared us and pulled up, when…my father and Jacob emerged in their pristine, G-men suits, I turned toward considerations regarding driving the car off the bridge and into the deep blue water below.

But…

But, the decision on Edward had been made _long ago_. He'd sealed his fate way before I came into the picture. He was meant for the Mist, and I couldn't stop it.

Swallowing, I fisted my hands at my sides and angled myself toward him.

"Edward…I was with Janey to take her soul, not to comfort her, not as an angel of mercy."

Slowly, his head turned toward me.

"She was so beautiful," I breathed, "her eyes…her eyes were a deep, sea green, like a warm ocean's foam, a shade I'd never encountered, not in my entire existence – a shade exactly like yours."

He swallowed, his green gaze enigmatic.

"She felt wretched for the pain she'd cause you," I choked, "and she was so young, so innocent despite what had been done to her, so concerned you'd be mad at her for leaving the apartment when you'd told her never to leave the apartment at night; so worried you'd never forgive her. I wasn't supposed to soothe her. It's not my job; it only makes it harder when we…but I couldn't…I couldn't take her soul without reassuring her…not when she was still in such turmoil. So, I told her you'd never blame her, that you'd always love her, that she'd be safe in her mist, for she was meant for the best one of all, the one where all are safe and happy. And my assurances soothed her, Edward. They brought a smile to her sweet face so that when her soul departed, it did so peacefully."

For a long while, Edward said nothing, while tears silently streaked his tired face, past his stubbly jawline, dripping onto his lap.

"You're…Death."

"An angel of Death. I'm not allowed to go where the souls go. But I've seen her realm from afar, and it's…an amazing place, Edward. So, don't feel guilty anymore," I sobbed tearlessly. "Janey is eternally safe and happy."

He held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, tears no longer falling yet still wet on his face.

"I wasn't supposed to make it out of that warehouse, was I?"

I shook my head.

"You were…sent to claim my soul."

I nodded. "But, I couldn't do it. I loved you from the moment I felt Janey's love for you."

Edward swallowed. "I wasn't meant for Janey's mist."

Again, I shook my head. "Those men out there…" I looked at my father and at Jacob, slowly approaching the car. Edward's eyes followed my gaze. "The older one is my father, the younger one is my brother. That young woman who just got out of her car, that's my sister, Alice."

"All…angels of Death?"

"Yes. And I begged, but they won't let us stay together, not in this realm or…"

"Or in the next," Edward finished for me, his gaze still focused outside of the car, "because of the things I did."

"I'm so sorry I lied to you," I said brokenly. "I'm sorry I allowed you to believe I was something other than what I am, but I wanted to be what you believed me to be. I wanted to be your soother and your second chance. I was supposed to claim your soul, but I couldn't because I-"

He grabbed my face so suddenly, I gasped. His nostrils flared, eyes burning, his hold firm yet tender.

"Bella, you've had my soul since the moment I first saw you all those years ago. It's yours, Bella, in any way, shape, or form. You _did_ soothe me. You _are_ my second chance. You're not an angel of death. You're _my_ angel of life. My soul has always been yours to claim."

He crushed his mouth to mine, and I cried against his lips.

"Don't cry. I love you," he breathed into me. "Listen to me." When I failed to listen, he pulled away enough to meet my eyes. " _Listen to me_ ," he said intently. "When I said you were more than I ever dared hope for, I wasn't exaggerating. These past few hours with you…I'll hold on to them forever – no matter where I go."

But in _his_ Mist, he wouldn't be able to hold on to them, and he couldn't even fathom it.

"No, Edward," I said, the fury and unfairness of it all taking hold within me. "No!"

Pulling away from him, I yanked the car door open and stepped out, already shouting at my father.

"At least allow him to return to Alcatraz and live out his life!"

My father stared back at me blankly.

"Bella, no," Edward said. "No."

When I turned around, Edward stood just outside the driver's side door.

"At least you'll live! At least, you'll have a second-"

The rest…happened quickly.

A pair of black cars sped through the blockade. The doors opened, and the men who stepped out opened fire. Screams filled the air. People hid inside and outside of their vehicles. As the police and agents returned fire, Garrett stepped up swiftly and fired.

It was over fast. Jacob pulled out his official, government-issued fire-arm and shot Garrett through the head. The mist enveloped him.

 _So_ many ways for a man living on borrowed time…

All was quiet as I rounded the car and dropped to my knees, as I cradled Edward's head in my lap and smiled at him. The mist approached us.

Jacob stood behind me, waiting.

"Move away from us, Jacob," I seethed stonily.

When we were alone again, I stroked Edward's cheek and spoke softly…soothingly.

"There are many veils of mist beyond; they're sort of like…layers. Janey is in the best of the best, in a mist for those still completely pure of heart, but you won't feel pain, Edward; not in your mist.

Shivering, he offered me a weak smile in return, lifting his cold hand, cupping my cheek.

"Bella…I wish we…I'll always love you."

"You won't feel sadness, Edward," I breathed shakily, "nor pain, nor disappointment, nor embarrassment, nor longing."

He would feel…nothing.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For living my life in a way where I don't deserve you."

"Shh." I kissed his lips. "Shh. You won't feel pain…you won't feel pain…"

His eyes closed, and as the mist closed in, I cradled Edward's head against my chest.

"I love you, too, Edward. _Try_ to hold on to that. I always will."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Take a deep breath! One more chapter left!**

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 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you TOMORROW!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So…no, we're not done. The last chapter has been split into two. Yay?**

 **Anyway, enjoy your Thanksgiving, and…I'll see you after. ;)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. Mistakes are mine too.**

* * *

 **In the Mist - Chapter 15**

Time is not equally linear. Not for my kind.

On this realm, Time is represented by seconds, minutes, hours, days…years – all determined by the circular relationship between Earth and Moon. It makes sense that those on this realm would base their concept of Time on these heavenly bodies of Matter, for their lives literally revolve around them. However, for those of us blessed – or cursed – with the knowledge of how vast Existence truly is, Time has no such bounds.

For me, Time is simply a word interchangeable with Change. Both occur in fits and starts for those of us whose existence doesn't have an approximate one-hundred-year limit. Time, like Change, is dependent on _us_. Otherwise, our very existence would be torture, for when our minds are in turmoil, Time is immeasurable.

Therefore, I can't say how long I've been in this cabin, or for that matter when was the last time I experienced Change. I don't know how much Time has transpired out _there_ , in the world where Time is calculated by a calendar – perhaps a day; perhaps a century. Neither do I care enough to try to determine it.

I don't know how I got to the cabin, either – not exactly. Vague recollections are jumbled in my head, images of myself walking off that blood-red bridge while mayhem erupted around me – FBI, State police, Highway Patrol, my dad, Jacob, Alice – all doing their various jobs.

Then, I was in the cabin, in _our_ cabin, the cabin where _he_ and I spent the most important Time…the most important Change in our existence. I won't leave his memory alone here, abandon it like a meaningless, fleeting moment when in reality, it was every moment that mattered.

So, as I sit on one of the two wooden chairs around the small table, I see him everywhere. I see him patiently seated next to me on the other chair while I bandage his arm. I see him bandaging my thigh, his fingers warm and gentle as he looks up at me through enigmatic eyes which saw so much more than they let on.

I see us on the small bed in the corner of the cabin, _our_ bed even though his legs were too long for it, and his feet hung off the bottom if he tried to stretch. But it kept us snug, kept our bodies molded, limbs tangled, spine to chest or chest to chest, my head on top of his quickly-beating heart, his mouth softly brushing the nape of my neck. I see us making love – sometimes his thrusts are urgently frenzied, sometimes they're purposely languid; sometimes I undulate over him like a gentle wave, sometimes I move like a furious storm. My hands get lost in his hair; his mouth puckers around my breasts.

I hear us – sighs, groans, cries of ecstasy…or just laughter and bits of foolish dreams and conversation.

 _'_ _Edward, I couldn't make myself leave you…I'll go anywhere with you….'_

 _'_ _You can have any part of me…you're my second chance to get things right…stay with me, Bella…'_

All the while, in a room backlit by streaming moonlight, our love keeps the mist at bay. And, in between visions of all the things I'd never change, I replay those I should've because t _here are so many ways the story could've ended differently. Yet, it never does, does it? I've been told our F_ ates are sealed, and it's our job to deliver them but never to change them. Never to change them.

 _They_ visit. I'm not sure how often. There's an ever-present mist which clings to the windows, and in between my visions of _him_ , I hear their voices.

Alice asks me to join her. She attends university, breaks downs barriers, accomplishes many firsts for women.

"Times are changing, Bella. You and I, we could do great things together for the women of this realm."

Perhaps we could.

"You never did like things too easy," my dad reminds me.

Perhaps I didn't.

"You've lost focus," Jacob tells me. "If you could just reclaim focus, everything would be better; everything would return to normal."

Perhaps it would.

Emmett visits as well.

"You couldn't have changed anything, Bella. His fate was sealed," he says often. "There was no other way. Fate _had_ to be acknowledged, though I wanted to minimize your pain. But hopefully soon, you'll understand…"

Guilt consumes him; I can tell. It tinges his voice. I hear his sympathy, perhaps even his remorse. I'm glad. I hope it eats him from the inside out. I hope his knees buckle under the weight of it. He claims we don't judge, yet he was allowed his wife, while _my_ love was deemed insufficient.

Either way, I pay Emmett little mind as my gaze slowly drifts around the cabin, where I see _him_ everywhere.

OOOOO

At some point during this uneven, immeasurable existence, I find myself at the cabin door. When I open it, the woods encroach upon it more than I recall. As one step forward becomes two, two steps become three, and I realize I'm leaving behind our cabin's warm embrace, I turn and look at it apologetically over my shoulder.

It looks…decrepit; decaying – weathered by storms, neglect, and yes, this realm's definition of time. The wooden frame is warped and falling in on itself. Overgrown weeds, shrubs and the occasional dandelion dance in the breeze surrounding it. A thick layer of mist permeates its perimeter, obscuring it from view, shrouding it in an ivory sheet like an old relic. Like a phantom.

With a deep breath, I turn away from our cabin and walk for yet another immeasurable period.

Dry leaves and bracken crunch under my flat shoes as I make my way under a canopy of redwoods and in between massive trunks. Forest creatures call to one another, flit from tree to tree, crawl on their bellies before me. Only rare slivers of sunlight manage to break through the complex shade above; they weave like spiderwebs encompassing the wood. These rare slivers of sunlight grow in area and frequency, eventually giving way to an open clearing overlooking a valley.

Large, pristine, and picturesque houses constructed of concrete and glass walls appear in the valley between redwoods. They're arranged like domino sets, in rows and rows of uniform blocks.

' _What kind of house will we live in?'_

' _I don't really care about that.'_

Paved roads line these blocks. Cars, none whose model I recognize, drive back and forth down the streets. Beyond the houses appears a town with peculiar storefronts – _Whole Foods, Chipotle, Starbucks_.

As I near the town, unidentifiable sounds waft in the air. Unknown songs blare from car radios. Rhythmic series of beeps blast from strange machines at street corners. There are moving images on screen posts atop buildings. Most peculiar of all are the rectangular objects carried in the hands of almost everyone I pass.

I stop in front of an interesting storefront. Through the wide, glass pane, I see everyone inside focused on what look like large, vertical televisions of sorts. They shift their hands wildly over the screens, cursing and shouting at them. A handful of young boys, somewhere around twelve or thirteen-years-old, I'd guess, loiter in front of the shop.

' _I suppose it depends on whether we'll have kids?'_

' _We can't. I'm sorry.'_

' _You're already more than I ever dared dream of.'_

The young boys hold those rectangular objects everyone seems to have in their hands, their thumbs moving furiously over them.

"What are those?" I ask.

Only one of the boys, the one who appears the youngest, bothers to look away from his object and up at me. A frown of confusion mars his forehead as if he hasn't completely understood the question.

"What?" He holds the object up between us and turns it over so that now I see there is a small screen on it. "These?"

"Yes."

"This cellphone you mean?"

"Cellphone?"

"It's an X."

"X?"

His frown deepens.

"What's in there?" I ask next.

He turns and looks at the storefront.

"In the arcade?"

"Arcade," I repeat.

He looks at me again, blinks, and returns his attention to his X.

I walk on, through and past the town with its large and small screens, with its sleek cars, and with its women dressed in ripped denim and fur boots as if they've just returned from a cold, wild corner of the Earth.

' _I think we should go to Alaska.'_

' _I'll go anywhere with you.'_

The men, on the other hand, wear no hats. Along with the Xs, everyone carries a bottle of clear liquid I assume is water or a paper cup full of something else.

I cross through the woods again, comforted by its unchanging familiarity. This time, when I emerge from them, I've reached the bay.

The sun's rays reflect off its surface, making it sparkle like sapphires. In the distance, an almost unrecognizable city springs up at its coast – an overcrowded landscape littered with silver structures of various shapes and sizes.

' _If we can make it past the bridge…'_

I make my way to the very edge of a cliff, where guard rails keep crowds of people who've gathered here from falling.

' _Edward, turn the wheel! Turn the wheel!'_

Almost everyone in the crowd holds up their Xs to the city as if they're making it an offering. Their thumbs push a button, and now the city freezes on their minuscule screens. Next, they stand in front of their Xs with their friends and family. They smile and press the button again.

"They're cameras," I murmur to myself.

"They're everything nowadays, aren't they?" A man's voice replies.

I look to my side and find a small, older gentleman, dressed more in the manner I recall – slacks, white dress shirt, and fedora in hand. His face is pressed against a binocular viewfinder shaped quite differently from those I recall.

"Heaven forbid anyone leave their house without their cellphones nowadays. Civilization as we know it might collapse. Well, I for one refuse to carry one of them gadgets. I've survived seventy-five years without one."

Here, he pulls away from the viewfinder and takes me in through eyes that have witnessed three-quarters of a human lifespan on this realm.

"What's the matter? You forgot your cellphone?"

I nod. "Yes. Yes, I did."

He smirks at me. "Then, it's almost as if you weren't here at all, isn't it? Especially if you can't – what is it that my granddaughter calls it – post on Instagram? Well, you might as well take a look at least through here or else what's the point?"

"What's the point, indeed?" I reply as he moves aside and gestures toward the viewfinder in invitation. "What will I see?"

"It's up to you," he says.

I move closer to the viewfinder and pinch one eye shut.

The scarlet Golden Gate stands majestically off to the right, while off to the left…to the left is the vague form of a rocky island ever-ensconced by the mist. When the mist clears, it reveals ruins surrounding a penitentiary as decrepit as our cabin.

It all rushes back like the bay's treacherous current…the first and last places I touched him; held him – truly held him, not merely in images which memorialize him in my mind and within a haunted cabin, but in my arms.

"Edward." His name erupts from me in a strangled whisper as pain lances through me, so hard and swift that as I jerk back and squeeze my eyes shut, the old gentleman wraps a hand around my wrist.

"Are you okay, honey?"

I don't reply.

"Who's Edward? Is he your husband, honey? Is he here with you?"

Eyes squeezed shut, I shake my head.

"What happened to Alcatraz?" I ask when I reopen my eyes.

The gentleman's brow furrows. "What happened?" he repeats in bewilderment. "Alcatraz closed down about…oh, over fifty years ago now, I'd say, back in the early sixties."

"The early sixties?"

"Yeah. Bobby Kennedy ordered it closed down."

"Bobby Kennedy?"

He shakes his head. "Boy, you Millennials are blank slates without them phones in hand, ain't ya?" He sighs. "Bobby Kennedy - The Attorney General. JFK's brother."

"JF…?"

"Are you kidding me, honey?" He looks around. "Did someone put you up to this?"

"No one has ever put me up to anything," I say.

He stares at me. "Then, see what happens when you legalize them drugs?"

"What happened to all the prisoners?"

"They were transferred to other prisons." He shrugs. "The place is a landmark now, run by the National Park Service. Them there ferries run all sorts of day trips over. Take a look." Again, he jerks his wrinkled jaw toward the viewfinder. This time, when I look through, I zoom in on the bay. Various size and types of boats are out this bright day. A medium-sized boat with the words, ALCATRAZ TOURS stenciled on its side heads toward The Rock, its deck packed with about three dozen people of various ages, male and female. Instead of wearing the generic, light blue clothing Edward wore the night he emerged from the bay, they're all dressed in what's normal clothing for this time period.

"They _tour_ the prison?"

"Yep. They say it's San Fran's most popular tourist attraction. The souvenir shops sell all types of Rock-themed merchandise: from black and white striped pajamas to ' _I escaped Alcatraz'_ tee shirts to mist-filled snow globes-"

"Mist?" I interrupt.

"Yeah. You know; the San Francisco mist. It's just about as famous as the Golden Gate and Alcatraz. The Rock is always covered in mist. Some say it's haunted by dead inmates who live within the mist."

I stare at him. Then, I reach out and touch his arm. "Can you help me get to one of those tour boats?"

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **See, what happened is, it grew too long. The story of my life. So…enjoy your Thanksgiving. Give thanks for all the good. I sure will.**

" **See" you afterward.**

 **Chapter Song Rec: Unchained Melody, covered by Lykke Li.**

 _ **Oh, my love, my darling  
I've hungered for your touch  
A long, lonely time  
And Time goes by so slowly  
And time can do so much  
Are you still mine?  
I need your love  
I need your love  
God speed your love to me**_

 _ **Lonely rivers flow  
To the sea, to the sea  
To the open arms of the sea  
Lonely rivers sigh  
"Wait for me, wait for me"  
I'll be coming home, wait for me**_

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving, gave thanks, enjoyed friends and family, and enjoyed turkey. Now, let's get back to the story.**

 **So…I'm trying to end this, I really am. But I'm wordy. So…one more chapter after this (I think). Maybe let's just stop counting, lol.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. Mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **In the Mist – Chapter 16**

 _During my self-imposed exile, I've realized what's perhaps-_

 _No, not perhaps. I've learned the biggest truth of all; the one which could've actually made a difference…could've saved him had I known from the beginning. But, like Eve at the Tree of Knowledge, I wasn't meant to know this particular truth._

 _As the third of Elder Charles Swan's four children, I was never given a choice, never allowed the possibility of an alternate way to that which I was born. After all, the children of Charles the Swan…Charles the Archangel, were born angels of Death._

 _Often, while alone in our cabin, I've recalled the first soul I claimed, with Emmett's assistance. Emmett was full grown when I was born, and as such, almost like a father to me._ _It was he who_ _taught me our duty._

 _The first soul was a young boy who'd been mangled by a wild animal while out hunting with his father. The father cried over the young boy's broken body, begged the boy to wake, to open his eyes._ _As for the boy, he wanted to return to his father. He struggled to wake as his father pleaded._

 _Instead, we claimed his soul swiftly. Afterward, Emmett explained it was to show mercy for the boy's physical suffering, not for his soul's pain._

" _Never allow yourself to feel the soul's pain," Emmett told me._

" _Why not?" I dared question. "Why can't we offer comfort?"_

" _It's not our job, Isabella. The soul's pain and comfort belong to that which is Fate, Mercy, Vengeance, Clemency, Compassion, and Judgment combined. If we offer comfort, we build connections, and these connections always bring with them a price – a price which may be too steep for even us to withstand."_

 _It wasn't enough of an explanation, not for me. Yet, I kept the subsequent questions to myself._

 _I should've just asked them because_ _ **they**_ _knew from the very beginning – at the very least, Father and Emmett knew the truth._

 _That's why they allowed me such latitude, or what I mistakenly believed to be latitude when in reality it was subterfuge – a way to keep the truth hidden by keeping me distracted and occupied. My attempts at empowerment, my retribution against those who hurt womenkind, my vengeance…my wrath – all these were tolerated, even admired, as long as they disguised the truth._

 _The day when I took it upon myself to offer comfort to a young girl…the moment I granted Janey that which wasn't mine to grant, I went beyond bounds, and I obliterated the safety bubble Father and Emmett tried so hard to erect around me. At that moment, the truth was set free, and a price was placed on my transgression. It was a debt which grew and accumulated interest until_ _ **they**_ _were able to find the perfect punishment, the most important thing…the most important being in my existence, to take from me._

' _ **Fate had to be acknowledged.'**_

 _That is the fate to which Emmett always referred – my fate, not Edward's. My brother merely tried to protect me from a punishment he knew I couldn't completely escape, yet one it would be torture to pay._

 _So, here is that great truth, the one which precedes all the rest:_

 _I wasn't meant for this job._

 _On that blood-red bridge six decades ago,_ _ **I**_ _was judged. Edward's fate wasn't sealed by actions he came to regret; Edward's fate was sealed by my love for him. He paid the price for_ _ **my**_ _willful disobedience._

OOOOO

 **Present**

The tip of my right flat inches forward and past the boat's bow as the tour boat leaves the marina behind. I stand as close to the railing as allowed by the ropes, as forward as I'm allowed without attracting attention. My mind knows standing this far forward won't get me on The Rock any faster, but my heart thrums with a sense of excitement, of building expectation I haven't felt in…in a while.

Will I find him? Does some version of him wander the Alcatraz mist? Is that why I felt a sudden urgency to leave our cabin after so long? And if I do find him…now that I know The Great Truth, can I save him from an eternity of Mist?

The ocean breeze whips up my hair, tickles the nape of my neck, and I dare it to turn into more. I dare it to bring the Mist with it, for I'm no longer bound by their rules, not in the manner into which I was forced. I don't want their protection, and if they try to provide it, I _will_ bring wrath – wrath against those who'll attempt to stand in my way.

The boat whips up the ocean's milky froth. It splashes my legs and face with its icy fingertips. As my mind wanders between past, present, and possible future, I absently listen to the conversations carried around me. My kind are fast learners, and these conversations teach me all I need to know about the latest version of this realm:

Not all cell phones are Xs. Women may now wear whatever they please, yet they're still judged for doing so. Wars continue, grow worse, and Society becomes further desensitized to them. Ten-thousand-year-old ice caps melt, and nothing is done about it.

The tour guide's voice blares through a loudspeaker. He points out dozens of sea lions lazing on a dock just to our right. Tourists point their cellphones and happily shoot pictures and video for Instagram. Unfortunately for these tourists, that's as much as they'll be able to actually _see_ this afternoon. In the distance, a cloud of heavy mist rolls in and camouflages the rest. Almost as one, a chorus of disappointed groans fills the foggy air.

Undeterred, the tour guide continues. He promises the tourists that although they may not see it, the Bay Bridge crossing into Oakland is indeed to our far right. Beyond the mist's obscurity, the majestic Golden Gate sits like a crown over the bay to our far left. And despite being currently concealed by a shroud of haze, Alcatraz – front and center – eagerly awaits our arrival.

When we cut through the thick, gauzy mist, everyone suddenly goes silent. It's as if, along with the colors around us, their excitement has been leached. People wrap their sweaters and coats more tightly around themselves. They murmur and joke shakily about the mist's almost teeth-like bite to their bare skin and faces. They yank down their hats past their ears and push the hair out of their eyes so that they may at least pretend they can see. When sharp waves rock the boat, their quivery chuckles and exclamations morph into yelps of fear.

The sun shines in the sky, yet its hue is a dull gray through the clouds. It transforms the world into a vast monochrome. It further frightens the tourists. The tour guide laughs through the loudspeaker.

"Calm down, people! It's just the usual 'Frisco mist, and it can't hurt you!" He clears his throat. "Although…it _is_ a bit thicker and darker than usual."

"Stay away from me," I hiss into the pervading void. "I will _never_ give up."

As we approach Alcatraz Island's rocky coastline, the landscape becomes visible in bits and pieces, like a puzzle being assembled right before our eyes. First to erupt through the fog is the sign announcing the _United States Penitentiary_ , and warning everyone, except those authorized, off the island's shores. The sign is surrounded by graffiti which reads _: Indians Welcome_. I learn through the guide that a few years after the penitentiary's closing, Alcatraz Island was occupied by Native Americans who demanded the return of the federal land. The government, however, had other plans for the island. It declared Alcatraz a historic landmark and opened it to the public. Next, the ivory, pillared-building, which served as temporary apartments for the island's officers, comes into view. It's a large, imposing building, and it's in front of this building that the boat finally docks.

Despite my anxiousness to arrive, I'm the last one off the boat, and now that I'm here, I have no idea where to go. I have no clue what to look for.

As I walk away from the dock, the tour guide makes one final announcement regarding the time of the last departure back to the mainland. He repeats this more than once.

"Or you'll be stuck on Alcatraz overnight, with no chance of escape!" He laughs.

An older woman appears under an awning. She's dressed in the green uniform of the National Parks Service. Calling everyone to attention, she requests that all gather around so that she may explain the structure of the island as well as the different tours available. It's as I'm wandering past her that I hear something that stops me.

"…our most popular self-guided walking tour will take you along Edward Cullen's escape route back in October 1959!"

Slowly, I turn toward her.

"Throughout Alcatraz's history, it's hosted a number of notoriously infamous inmates such as Al Capone, George 'Machine Gun' Kelly, and 'The Birdman of Alcatraz' Robert Stroud. Yet, Edward Cullen is the only inmate in history to have successfully escaped from Alcatraz Island. That he actually survived the mile and a quarter swim to the bay is a confirmed fact rather than mere speculation. Unfortunately for him, his successful escape only lasted until the following morning, when a massive manhunt for Cullen ended with his death on the Golden Gate, shot multiple times by a member of his own gang, who was then shot and killed by the FBI – and all a mere two miles from where Cullen's attempted escape began."

As she speaks, I've backtracked toward the woman in uniform, weaved through the crowd so that I'm at the front, my head angled upward to completely take her in from the pedestal on which she stands.

"Also part of the Edward Cullen Tour, and through the miracles of modern technology, you'll hear decades-old audio from Cullen himself; audio which was discovered long after his death, and in which he talks of the two women he loved most in his life: his young sister, who was murdered at age fourteen and whose murderer he murdered and the reason he ended up at The Rock, and an unknown woman he never names, yet whom he describes as having raven hair and raven eyes."

My breaths are unnecessary, yet they erupt from me in uneven succession.

"Where…" I murmur, then I speak louder so that I may be heard over the once-again excited crowd. "Where can I take this tour?"

The Parks Service woman looks down at me and then lifts her eyes high and beyond.

"At the very top of The Rock, at the penitentiary itself. But you should hurry if you want to take the tour. As I said, it's our most popular one, and only a limited number of headphones are available. They tend to run out by-"

I'm already sprinting up the paved hill. To my right, I pass the look-out tower, once manned by guards ensuring no one was sneaking about.

"How in the world did they miss him that night?" I hear a couple of tourists wondering.

"If it was as misty as it is now…"

There's a souvenir shop to my left, where I see a few more tourists enter. The shop gives way to a concrete wall on that side. I follow its bend as more tourists stop to snap hazy pictures on their cellphones of abandoned Angel Island, where it rises, rich and verdant, to my right.

I wind my way around the fenced-in and walled hill. Colorful flowers sprout everywhere, and I vaguely wonder when they were planted – during the island's time as a jail or afterward. Then…at the center of the island, the penitentiary appears, and all other thoughts abandon me.

Almost trance-like, I climb the steps leading into the massive, ivory building - on the outside built in the same style as the housing barracks by the dock, yet about four times its size.

It's dark inside. People wander around, their voices almost reverently hushed. They follow signs – this way to the main jail, that way to the various tours. There's a long line for the Edward Cullen Tour. I wait impatiently as it winds around and around a narrow room whose previous use I can't imagine. At the front of the line, I'm quietly handed a set of headphones and a rectangular object with a series of buttons: arrows, squares, and circles. It doesn't take me long to decipher the object. When I press the forward arrow, I draw in a sharp breath as Edward's voice introduces the tour.

Edward chuckles carelessly. "I don't care," his words confirm. "Makes little difference to me whether I'm in here or out there. Yeah, I killed the guy who killed my sister. That's all that matters. Piece of garbage didn't deserve to live; so yeah, I elected myself his judge, jury, and executioner. It's how we serve justice in my corner of the world. That it was served to me as well I suppose is fair. Like I said, I don't care."

His voice stops, and the narrator takes over, introducing the tour, providing an approximate completion time and further instructions. All the while, my eyes are squeezed shut. When the narrator begins the tour, it's basic Alcatraz information: what the inmates would've experienced upon their arrival at The Rock, the smaller-than-average size of their cells, rules and regulations they would've had to follow to avoid punishment. He guides me through various corridors, the main one nicknamed "Broadway." Solitary confinement is also known as "The Hole." Here, in front of the pitch black cells of The Hole, with thick, iron doors promising total darkness, the narrator plays Edward's voice once again.

"What do I think of when I'm in The Hole?" he snorts. "I try _not_ to think. Still, lots of times, I see things I don't want to see, which I suppose is the punishment they're going for, isn't it? I see my mother's face when that telegram arrived from the front. I see her blank stare in the months after. I see my sister on the night she was killed."

"Edward…" I choke silently.

On the audio, there's a long stretch of crackling silence.

"Sometimes, though…sometimes I see her – my girl. Not the blond out there, no. I mean the one with the raven hair and the raven eyes; My… _real_ girl. My _true_ love." Then, he snorts derisively. "Though she doesn't exist, so I guess I'm insane on top of everything else, right? In here, though...in here, she's real, and she's everything. Sometimes – not in the goddamn Hole, of course – but sometimes when I'm in my cell, I think I actually hear her across the bay. I hear her soothing voice, her musical laugh, and I close my eyes and sleep peacefully that night."

Unimaginable pain lances through me, forcing me to grab onto the steel door before my legs give. Meanwhile, the narrator cuts in to explain that with San Francisco Bay only a mile and a quarter from Alcatraz, on some days, the inmates actually could make out faint voices.

Then, the narrator guides me past the prison library, directs my eyes to the gun gallery above, from where the armed guards were always watching, and further still past the dining hall. He asks me to make a right down C slash D Block, otherwise known as "Seedy" Block, and he tells me exactly at which minuscule cell to stop.

Edward's cell has been preserved the way he left it almost sixty years ago, on the night when he escaped.

There are paintings – detailed landscapes of the bay view from the prisoners' recreation area, where he was only allowed twice a week for one hour a day: The Golden Gate, San Francisco's skyline of the 1950s, Angel Island. There are paintings of a young girl I recognize as Janey. I smile to myself.

"I didn't know you painted."

And…and one canvas painting propped up at the center of the top of his two shelves looks back at me through the raven eyes of a woman with raven hair.

As the narrator's voice drones on and on, I wrap my hands around the cell's iron bars.

"Edward…I'm here," I breathe. "Tell me where to go."

Afterward, the narrator announces the crowning glory of the Edward Cullen Tour: the recreation of his escape route.

Apparently, the highly intelligent individual used spoons to make drills, with which he enlarged a grate hole in the wall of his cell. During the night in question, Edward squeezed through this hole, which led to a utility corridor through which he climbed onto the penitentiary's roof. Since tourists aren't allowed to recreate this route, we're led around it and then guided outdoors, a few yards to the back of the penitentiary, where a steep drop leads to a ravine overlooking the rocky shoreline. The narrator further explains,

"It's believed Edward Cullen took his chances at this ravine, jumped into the treacherous waters below, and somehow safely made it to the other side."

The narrator then goes on to speculate on the few hours between when Edward emerged from the waters…to when he was cornered at the Golden Gate.

I only vaguely listen to that portion. Around me, my fellow tourists further speculate as well while the narrator begins to wind down the audio tour. There's a sign, in large, imposing red letters and a thick rope which closes off the hilly ravine, blanketed in mist. This is what holds my attention.

"DANGER: NO TRESPASSING. NO FURTHER TOURS BEYOND THIS POINT BY PENALTY OF LAW."

I've paid enough of a penalty.

It takes time, but with each passing hour, the number of tourists around the area dwindle. Finally, in the distance and below, a loudspeaker announces the departure of the final boat off the island. Slowly, I make my way through the mist and into the ravine.

"Edward…I'm here. I came."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **I'll say this: I THINK we only have one more chapter. ;)**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 ***TINY BIT OF QUICK HISTORY***

 **On June 11, 1962, three Alcatraz inmates carried out the most daring escape attempt ever from The Rock using the method described here for Edward. (Watch 'Escape from Alcatraz' with Clint Eastwood). While it's confirmed that they successfully escaped the penitentiary, to this day it's unknown whether they survived the mile-and-a-quarter crossing to San Francisco Bay. Though official records claim all three drowned in the water, their bodies were never discovered, and many believe they lived out the remainder of their lives peacefully, in Brazil.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: We're done. :)**

 **Boy, this one went a lot longer than I expected it to! Sorry about that, loves.**

 **Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts, and I'll be working my way through reviews calmly now. :)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **In the Mist – Chapter 17**

 _And so, with this Last Great Truth, I finally see how nothing could have changed. Fate simply_ _ **must**_ _be acknowledged._

 **Present:**

In the darkness, the small ravine behind Alcatraz Penitentiary resembles an Amazonian jungle. The rich boscage is kept perennially verdant by the bay's cool stream flanking it from all sides, by the wet climate, and by the mist which clings to its natural foliage. Flocks of seabirds, who call the Bay their home, nest on the conveniently-placed isle. They chirp and wail from the rocky cliffs below.

"Edward," I murmur.

The steep slope pitches downward at a sharp gradient, and in my reckless haste, I lose my balance. My breath leaves me in a rush as I lurch forward into obscurity. Cold air bites my cheeks as I fall, and I prepare for whatever awaits below. I'll survive, yes, but it _will_ hurt.

Right before my feet completely abandon the rocky, muddy ground, I manage to grab hold of a thick shrub. As I land hard on my knees, I cry out in pain. For a while, I kneel in the murky twilight, breathing hard.

"Edward," I call again. "Edward, I'm here."

Waves crash against the rocks down below in reply.

I draw in a series of short, successive breaths. "Okay. Okay, I'll come down."

I stand, and with somewhat more caution, make my way downslope grasping the shrubbery surrounding me and using it to steady my descent. The needle-like branches dig deep into my palms. My flats sink into the mud. My knee joints ache from where I banged and scraped them. Nonetheless, I relegate the pain and injuries to that part of my mind reserved for unimportant matters. I'll heal soon. I always do.

When the ravine ends, it gives way to ivory, uneven, and rocky terrain.

"Edward, I'm here. I came."

The rocky ground opens up onto a bluff – a beautiful, white cliff overlooking the bay. As I stand at the cliff's precipice, San Francisco comes to life just across the water, and for the barest fraction of a moment, as the modern city's lights glow in the darkness, I almost forget where I am and why. That is, until a brighter light beams from behind me – Alcatraz Island's lighthouse, turning on its searchlight for the evening more out of habit now than necessity.

In that moment, as I squeeze my eyes shut, I can almost feel what Edward must've felt that night long ago, standing in the same spot, gazing out at the same city at the end of the same treacherous waters, and debating his limited options:

Remain imprisoned for the rest of his days…or risk it all for a slim shot at freedom. He made it; somehow, Edward survived the almost inconceivable swim…yet his freedom only lasted a few hours.

The lighthouse's glow reflects behind my closed lids as I stand there and allow the memories of our few hours together to wash over me.

"Edward…"

The wind whips up my hair and wraps it around my damp face; it blows cold and wet breaths against my back. It propels me forward. The tips of my flats overhang the cliff.

"Edward…"

There's rustling behind me; whistling in my ear, and for a handful of seconds, I actually hope…I believe...

"Edward, please." My voice breaks. "I'm here. I came. _Please_ answer me _."_

The first sign is always the absolute silence; though, this one is more pronounced than I've ever experienced. Waves, birds, creatures and insects, the air itself – all of it stops. My hair falls limply around my shoulders. The entire city across the bay falls into inertia; falls dormant.

"You knew he wouldn't be here."

I neither reply nor turn around.

A deep sigh ensues. "There's no such thing as ghosts, Isabella, as you, daughter of an archangel, would know better than almost anyone."

"I wasn't even allowed to guide him," I cry quietly.

A pause follows. "No, you weren't, because by then, you'd lost sight of your duty."

"I _never_ wanted this duty," I seethe, "not in the way it was forced upon me."

"Nevertheless, as Charles' daughter, it _is_ your duty, an eternal duty, and a duty which has rules; rules which you broke."

"I broke the rules, and Edward paid the price."

"Isabella, Edward received the punishment that was due him for the life he led."

"He regretted that life, and he wanted a second chance; he would've been allowed a second chance if not for the fact that it's what _I_ wanted most for him."

"There was an efficiency to the way it was handled, yes."

Here, I do spin around. Behind me, I find…nothing more than a thick, dark mist.

I recognize the voice wafting through the fog. It's that of the small, old man who spoke to me by the Oakland cliffs, by the viewfinder. I suppose I knew, even as I touched him and pretended I didn't know, that he was no regular, old man.

Nevertheless, I lash out with an indignant, unsuppressed fury almost sixty years in the making. Perhaps even longer than that.

"My brother spoke to me once of that which is Fate, Mercy, Vengeance, Clemency, Compassion, and Judgment combined."

"And you think you stand before it now?"

"I don't think it exists!" I retort.

"Nevertheless, you had questions you dared not ask – not then, though you should have."

" _Where_ does Love fit in there?" I scream into the mist.

"Do you not believe all those things combined equal Love?"

"No, I don't!" I shout. "For if they did, _my_ love wouldn't have been taken from me! Edward wouldn't have been doomed to the Eternal Mist of Nothing to punish _me_." I choke on the last words, hanging my head. The rest carries through the air in an agonized whisper. " _How_ is that love – dooming him to never remember me, while I'm doomed to never forget him?"

The Man in the Mist is quiet for a long while. In the silence, the city across the bay comes alive again. The birds below us resume their cawing. Waves crash against the cliff once more. Yet, I know the old man is still there.

"If you could have it otherwise, what would you change, Isabella?"

My brow furrows. That's not what I expected the Man in the Mist to ask. "I don't understand."

"I think you do," the man counters calmly. "What would you change? How far back would you go? Would you return to that pier across the bay, to when Edward emerged from the water? Would you stop him from killing Michael?"

"Michael deserved to die," I say through gritted teeth. "He beat women. It's why _I_ was sent to take care of him."

"Nevertheless, allowing Edward to do the final duty just added to his list of transgressions."

"I…I was still trying to obey then," I reply.

"Very well. Would you scream afterward, so that the authorities might have apprehended Edward and returned him to The Rock? At least, he might have been allowed to live out his life under that scenario."

"I…he wouldn't have wanted…he said he'd never return to Alcatraz."

"Would you have allowed him to be killed at the warehouse before you learned what was physical love with him?"

"Physical or not, I already loved him."

The Man in the Mist sighs. "Perhaps then…we should go back to the moment in which you first disobeyed and set the rest in motion." He pauses and waits.

"Janey," I breathe.

"Yes. Janey. Would you go back to Janey, Isabella? Would you return to the moment when you offered her that which wasn't yours to offer?"

" _Why_ wasn't it mine to offer?"

"Again, these are questions you should've asked a long, long time ago."

His words, the chastisement in them, refuel my indignation. "I was expected to allow her soul to depart in anguish?"

"You'd done so many times before, Isabella. What made Janey so different?" When I don't respond, the Man in the Mist continues. "You don't comfort the soul, Isabella. It's what you were taught, and with Janey, you disregarded those teachings."

"I did," I admit.

"So now, I ask you: would you be willing to return to that moment and retract that comfort?"

My eyes narrow. "With what purpose?"

"So that you might obtain your own comfort. We've already established that's where it all went wrong. Would you allow Janey's soul to be claimed in the way it was always meant to be claimed so that you would never need to be punished?"

My heart thrums painfully against my chest as all manner of possibilities swim before my misted gaze.

"If I did retract the comfort I gave her soul…would Janey still find peace and comfort?"

"You know the answer to that, Isabella. Of course, she would find peace and comfort, but _afterward_ , after her soul departed this realm, just as it has always been. There is a reason for this, Isabella: offering the soul comfort _before_ it departs this realm just makes it harder for some to let go. Then, we get into pleas for second chances."

"She didn't request a second chance," I point out.

"No, but her brother did." When I don't counter, he adds, "Isabella, we do what we must to ensure uniformity."

"To ensure efficiency," I say, repeating his words from before.

"Janey was always meant for the best of all the mists. And had you allowed her soul to depart in the manner to which it was meant, you would've spared yourself the anguish you've experienced for almost sixty human years now, an anguish you'll likely experience for the rest of your existence. Our kind does not often feel such extreme emotion, but when we do, it is an inseverable emotion."

"Had I allowed Janey's soul to depart in the manner to which it was meant…" I breathe almost silently, "Edward wouldn't have been doomed…?"

"If Edward regretted, he would've received a second chance. So, what's your answer, Isabella? Would you undo your act of benevolent disobedience to spare yourself unnecessary anguish? To save Edward from the Eternal Mist of Nothing?"

At that moment, the mist before me lifts, parts, and reveals a scene wholly unrelated to Alcatraz:

It's my… _our_ cabin, Edward's and my cabin. Its wooden logs are rich and strong, not the decayed wood I left behind. Its roof is bathed in sunlight. Golden rays dance around its perimeter like heralding trumpets. When the front door opens, a strangled sound escapes me.

Edward emerges from our cabin, young and strong. His emerald gaze searches the surroundings, stops, and…and smiles in my direction; a smile so like his little sister's smile – her final smile; a joyful smile; a peaceful smile.

"Isabella?" the Man in the Mist prompts.

"NO!"

My lungs feel as if they'll explode from the force of my outburst. It doubles me over, makes my legs go weak, and drops me to my knees.

"No! No, I would _never_ take away Janey's final smile, her knowledge that her brother loved her wholly and unconditionally, no matter what! No! I will _never_ regret that! I will never trade her final moment of human happiness for my eternal peace! No! I will _never_ trade Edward's knowledge that despite what was done to her, his sister died peacefully! No!" I cry wildly, grabbing my chest. "Edward recognized me because he _saw me_ with Janey, he saw me comforting her! And…and he came to regret because of that _same_ moment! No! I _won't_ trade all of that for my peace!"

"Isabella-"

"Leave me! I don't want to be an Angel, not this way!"

The San Francisco skies open and leave the Bay awash in a sudden and torrential deluge – a deluge so powerful I can't see an inch in front of me. I can't think beyond my all-encompassing pain; every part of me feels crushed and battered. I can't breathe through the heavy downpour.

I'm completely undone.

"Are you sure, Bella? Despite your infraction, you've always been beloved."

Uncontrollable sobs rack my frame and comingle with the rain.

"Bella-"

I throw my head up to the blackened skies and howl. "LEAVE! ME!"

OOOOO

Time transpires. I'm not sure how much. Another sixty years, for all I know as I lay prostrate on that cold, hard, damp terrain. The downpour soaks me, streams in rivulets down my cheeks – cold tears my kind can never truly shed. Eventually, however, the storm passes, my clothing dries, and the muted sun rises through the mist. We all have our eternal, inseverable duties.

 _Alcatraz Tours_ begins its daily runs. I rise from the river of mud and muck and make my way to the dock, where I catch a – late morning? early afternoon? – boat back to the mainland. There's only one place I want to go, and once I'm there, Time can proceed in any manner it wishes – quickly, slowly, in fits and starts. Either way, I don't plan to ever leave our cabin again.

Once outside the pier, I hail a cab. When it stops, I open the back door and climb in, leaning forward to touch the driver's arm.

"Please take me to the entrance to Muir Woods."

The cab driver startles slightly at my touch, turning to look at me over his shoulder.

He frowns. "You look like you got caught in a serious storm, Miss; and by the way, you really shouldn't do that nowadays."

I'm somewhat startled myself, as my appearance is rarely remarked upon in negative terms.

"I shouldn't do what?" I ask.

"Go around touching people." He turns back around. "Entrance to Muir Woods, you said?"

My brows furrow in bemusement at his clipped tone and demeanor. Usually, my touch calms them, but I suppose he's feeding off my own disturbed mind.

"Yes. Yes, please."

The cab weaves through Bay Area traffic. As it approaches the Golden Gate, I shut my eyes and lean back, resting my pounding head and fighting images of what was…what could've been. When I touch my cheek and feel a strange dampness, I bring my wet fingers in front of me, frowning once more. I would've expected the raindrops on my cheeks to have dried by now. Shutting my eyes, I try to shut off my mind as well.

"Miss, I said we're here."

With a gasp, I sit up straight, disoriented by both the lingering loss of time and the continuing headache. Our minds are strong and usually shake off such things rapidly. When I scan my surroundings, I draw in a breath of relief at my familiar woods. A rare sun shines over the forested path that'll lead me home. It reminds me of the sun's rays which surrounded our cabin in my earlier vision.

"I'll be home soon," I murmur quietly, "and I'll never leave you again."

The cab driver clears his throat. "Miss?"

Leaning forward, I reach out and once more touch the driver's arm.

"I have no money, but thank you, and when you return to the Bay, may you have a prosperous day."

With a tired smile, I drop my hand from the driver's arm and reach for the door handle.

"What the- hold on there, Miss. Seriously? What do you mean you don't have money? This was a long-ass trip for you to pull that crap. I mean, you're a beautiful lady, yeah, but your looks aren't going to get you a free ride."

I stare at him.

"Did you hear me, Miss? What, are you on something? Well, I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head, "but you need to pay."

"My touch…" I murmur, "it didn't…persuade you?"

For a moment, he scrutinizes me as if weighing my level of sanity. "Persuade me to what? To let you take _me_ for a ride?" He snorts. "It sure as hell didn't. Like I said, you may be gorgeous, but I've got bills to pay."

My mind swims in a veritable sea of incomprehension. Again, I bring my hand up and in front of me, open it wide, turn it from side to side, and now…now I note the scrapes on my palms from the shrubbery back at The Rock. They should've healed by now…disappeared.

"What…?" I touch my face, which still feels strangely moist. Swallowing, I reach for the bottom hem of my pants and begin to pull one pantleg up over my ankle and knee.

The driver yelps a curse in protest. "What the hell are you doing?"

When I manage to guide the pant leg past my knee joint, I stare, dumbfounded, at my scraped and bloody knee. The gash is worse than I imagined. It might need…it might need _stitches_.

I draw in a wild gasp.

"All right. Forget the fare, and just get out the cab, miss. Just get out of the cab."

Crying actual tears, I obey the driver's request. "I don't understand."

"What do you mean you don't understand?" he says indignantly, misconstruing the cause of my distress. "Next time, make sure you have money to pay! We cab drivers work hard and don't need to be cheated by pretty women looking for free rides!"

He's still yelling as he drives off and leaves me standing dirty, bloody, and reeling at the entrance to Muir Woods.

My heart beats frantically. It… _beats_. It's not an imagined sensation derived from vast yet second-hand knowledge of what such a thing should feel like. My lungs _feel_ constricted. My legs ache – really damn badly.

Ignoring the physical pain, I take off at a sprint through the woods, run in between redwoods and shrubbery. In my bewildered state, I obtain more scrapes and scratches, yet I don't stop nor slow down to examine them. I lose my balance and fall – yet more scrapes. When one of my flats breaks, and I abandon it, pebbles and rocks dig painfully into my sole.

Finally…finally, I emerge from the thicket and into the clearing leading to my cabin – to _our_ cabin.

The cabin is shrouded in the eternal white, soft, and gauzy mist that's kept it hidden for decades. The only way I know it's there is because _I_ know it's there. For the first few moments, as I stand watching the all-encompassing, vaporous haze blanket our cabin, I forget all my physical aches as another, much more deep-rooted and profound sensation lances through me. It's fury – a boundless fury aimed at myself for allowing my stupid imagination, my longing for him, to raise useless hopes yet again.

But then…as in my vision on the cliff, the mist suddenly lifts. It rises upward; it parts like the Red Sea. The day's rare sun somehow manages to break through the thick canopy of redwood leaves and willowy vines. It streams rays upon the cabin's roof – the cabin's strong, hale roof – and along its well-built, rugged, logged walls like heralding trumpets – heralds announcing the opening of the front door.

My shoulders shake from the force of my sobs. Of course, it won't be him. After all, I refused to retract that comfort which was not mine to provide.

Perhaps I'm still on that cliff, overlooking the dark bay, finally felled and overpowered by the storm – an angel of Death who's lost her mind and still dreams wishful dreams. I hold my breath, fist my hands at my sides, refusing to allow myself hope…

But my heart…my too-human heart has always been my downfall. Or…has it been my salvation?

Either way, that overactive organ slams against my ribcage as he rushes toward me, to where I stand frozen, immobile, and still unable to entirely believe. Not even when I'm pulled hard into his embrace, locked within his arms and caged within his warmth. Not even when I smell his familiar scent. When my legs give…when they fold… _Edward_ holds me up.

" _Bella_."

His voice is ragged, strangled, infused with the same disbelief I feel, yet his mouth skims every inch of my face as if he doesn't care one way or another whether this is real or not. His breath bathes me in unimaginable…yet wholly remembered warmth as he breathes my name over and over.

"Bella. God, Bella. Bella."

His voice breaks, and he pulls away only enough to cradle my face in his strong hands. Emerald eyes, the color of the ocean's foam, meet mine. Tears streak his angular jawline. His thumbs wipe the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Are you really here?" I whisper, and then cry louder, "Are you really here?"

He nods, lips quivering through a shaky smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

" _How?"_

His voice is rough; hoarse, yet so tenderly familiar. "I…I'm not really sure. Garrett…he pointed the gun at me, and all I could think was how damn _glad_ I was that you were all the way on the other side of that car. The next thing I knew, I was looking up at you, while you held my head on your lap."

"He shot you. You died," I say bluntly, crying. "Then, the Mist took you."

A series of short, successive breaths escape him. "I know. Afterward…there were moments full of haze…of blankness, where it was so hard to think…to hold on to reason." He looks past me, casts his gaze toward the woods. "I wandered, but I don't…really know for how long. You were right about how Time transpires in the mist. It can't be measured. All I know is I awoke in the woods outside our cabin." He sweeps his emerald eyes back to me so suddenly, my breath catches. His grip on my face tightens, his nostrils flare, and wariness darkens his gaze.

"Bella, how long has it been since that day on the bridge?"

"Edward, my love," I breathe, "you died almost sixty years ago."

For a moment, he stares at me with an expression full of incredulity, shock, and abject horror all mingled together. Then, he shuts his eyes and shakes his head, and when he reopens his eyes, they're alight with indignant outrage – on my behalf.

"Did you feel it, Bella? You once told me you don't feel Time the same as humans, but did you feel our separation for all those years? _Decades_? Did you feel them?" he asks fiercely.

Slowly, with my gaze locked on his, I nod. "Yes. Yes, I felt them."

He draws me into his arms, so hard and fast it's as if he's trying to erase Time itself. But Time can't be erased.

When he speaks, his words are garbled, half-strangled with emotion.

"How the fuck could they do that to you? My God, how could they do that?"

Again, he pulls away only enough to meet my gaze with his fiery one.

"Bella, you were right about Time in the Mist, but you were wrong about something else. I didn't feel Time in its normal manner, but I _never_ forgot you."

I choke on a sob.

 _Never_ ," he stresses fervently, "not for one single moment. The memory of you kept me going; the love we shared kept me sane. Your love _saved_ me from that Mist."

"Edward-"

He crushes his mouth to mine, and that…is the moment…when I believe.

Edward breathes his human life into me, and I _know_ this is real, because nothing has ever made me feel so alive.

"I never forgot you, either, Edward," I breathe against his lips. "Never."

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs. "I'm sorry you spent so much time…you felt so much time without me."

"It's okay." Unbelievably, I manage an actual chuckle through my tears. "It's okay. As long as you didn't feel it. It was my transgression, and I paid their price, and it's over now, and it's okay."

He pulls back and meets my gaze with a frown.

"What transgression, and what was the price?"

"I was never meant to comfort Janey, and as punishment, you were taken from me. The price was our separation, and…and my fall. Edward…I'm human."

He nods, takes my hands and guides the right one up between us, kissing my scraped palm.

"I know. These look kind of deep, and…" his thumb traces a path down my temple, "you have one here too that looks as if it's been there for a few hours." He grips my hips tightly. "You _feel_ different. Still wonderfully you," he grins wistfully, "but different."

"You always saw right through me."

He smiles, and for an immeasurable moment, we simply hold one another, caressing, remembering.

"Edward, it's a new world out there beyond the woods. A lot has changed, more in the relatively short period than I've ever experienced."

He raises his eyebrows, then looks up and sighs.

"It's a second chance." Then, he nods with that sense of confidence I remember he always possessed. "We'll learn this new world together." His eyes pan back to me swiftly as if he can't bear to pull them away for too long.

"Bella, my heart and soul have been yours since the first moment I saw you with Janey, acting as an angel of mercy, Bella, _not_ of death," he stresses fervently. "In truth, my heart and soul were probably already yours long before that. If your punishment is no longer being their angel, know that you've always been mine."

"Edward…"

"My love for you never died, it was never forgotten, and it never will be," he whispers, his mouth close to mine, jaw set tight in determination. "I'll be a good man for you. Like I promised you once, almost sixty years ago, I'll live a life worthy of this second chance…a life worthy of the choice you've made to stay with me."

It's a new world, in _so_ many ways, in ways I'm sure neither of us can fathom at the moment. For one, I'm no longer an angel, and I must learn to be _human_ in this time period. For another, Edward must learn to be _alive_ again in this time period.

But…we're together.

I, Isabella, daughter of Charles, sister to Emmett, was born into a duty I never truly understood, into a duty where emotions are meant to be suppressed, rarely felt. _I_ couldn't exist that way, not for an eternity – and not once I met Edward. I suppose the Mist finally accepted that. So, I leave the eternal duty to those who _can_ exist with it, as I'm ready to live with what was finally my choice.

With a deep breath, I cast my gaze around the woods, to where the mist ends just at the threshold…to where my brothers, my sisters, and my father stand smiling wistfully at me for the last time. I offer them a peaceful smile in return. Fate must be acknowledged, and I'll see one of them again someday, when my time arrives.

For now, I lean upward and brush my human lips against Edward's human lips. When I take his hand, I weave together more than our fingers…I acknowledge the weaving of our futures.

"I know you will, Edward. I know you will."

As we make our way back into our cabin to plan our life together, it's with sunlight warming our backs and guiding our way.

THE END

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **For the final time, here are the songs which kept me inspired. Please keep in mind that most of these are** _ **covers**_ **for the originals (since a GR seemed to miss that part and called me an idiot for "not knowing who the songs belong to") ;)**

 **Mad World (Featuring Michael Andrews)**

 **Everybody Want to Rule the World by Lorde**

 **Que Sera Sera by Pink Martini**

 **For What It's Worth by Malia J**

 **Sympathy for the Devil by Jane's Addiction**

 **Wings by Birdy**

 **Uninvited by Alanis Morissette**

 **Iris by Kina Grannis**

 **Unchained Melody – both the original by The Righteous Brothers and the cover by Lykke Li**

 **And as another helpful GR was passive-aggressively anxious for me to acknowledge, I will add here that the 1998 Film, "City of Angels" and the 1987 film "Wings of Desire" might also be construed as inspiration for this story. I'll happily acknowledge any similarities. No passive-aggressiveness needed. :)**

 **Great movies, by the way. I definitely recommend them.**

 **Thank you, and "see" you again soon!**

 **Patty**


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